everybody say "thank you superman 2025 for bringing truly irredeemable villains back with lex luther!"
he is a cold blooded killer. he has pathetic tantrums and throws pens on the floor. he only wears black. he delivers a fantasically evil villain monologue. he cries pathetically when beaten. his motivation is not related to some tragic backstory, but is simply jealousy twisted into something so deplorably evil. he is bald.
I want a fic where Lex genuinely believes him, Bruce, and Oliver are all best friends.
It started when Oliver Queen offhandely joked about how Superman is bad at damage control to Bruce at a gala.
Lex immediately spawned in between them, his bald head gleaming in the dim light, and proceeded to high jack their conversation and shit talk Superman for the rest of the evening.
Afterwards Lex is content because he got through a entire social gathering and had a great time, it's just so nice to be around people who share your interests (they don't share his interests, they were just acting polite and awkward.)
Ever since then Lex has tagged along with them at EVERY social gathering and he regularly tags them in shit on social media and sends them memes of superman. Unfortunately Oliver does interact because some are genuinely funny, Bruce doesn't care that much but he always plays dumb in the comments.
I could see superman finding about about this when he went with Jimmy to a charity event where those three were, and of course Bruce and Oliver start to pose for a picture together but almost like he sensed it, Lex just ran in between them and photobomed the picture, hugging both of them and smiling ear to ear.
Next time Superman, Batman, and Green Arrow are alone Superman goes "Do you want to talk about-"
I love the idea of jazz being related to Luther and having a little bit of a psychotic mind like him and still keeping her character. Can you imagine a Luther raised by a Fenton?
I don’t think Lex could handle that. Like he totally underestimate her a serious fuck around n find out situation.
Like I don’t know what situation it would have to be for her to end up in his “custody“ but he would try to parent her and I feel like jazz might take it as this is my time to rebel. I’m gonna cause a problem cause I feel like every Fenton is mischievous.
Maybe they go to Luther because their aunt can’t take them and their parents IDK got arrested and they don’t wanna go with Vlad 
Perhaps by the end of it, Lex becomes tired, evil, girl dad who is constantly laughed at by Danny
Content Warning: Over Stimulation, breeding kink, rutt.
Ultraman blurb
WC: 149 apx
W/P!link: Creampie
You loved when Kal (Ultraman) got like this, in a rut he couldn’t hold back, didn't want to hold back. And you didn't want him to.
Holding you in place, your thighs squeezed shut between his as he thrust hard and deep into your pussy. The harsh pace leaving your legs shaking as he pounded into your pussy, groaning as your walls tightened around his cock, making jolts of pleasure spark through your body.
The intensity of his movements left you with no choice but to grip the sheets and gasp out of bliss.
He would fuck you until you’d cum all over his cock and he’d keep fucking you till you came again. He’d fuck you, till you were barrier to the hilt of him as the thrusted into you long, hard and deep until he filled you up with his cum and you were drunk off him.
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This work is mine. Copying or translating this fic is strictly prohibited. Any issue must be notified directly to me. Thank you.
Summary: You finally managed to find out Clark’s deepest secret.
a/n: This isn’t really proof-read, only some of it lol. But as always, send any requests my way!
There were two things Clark was sure of:
One, you weren’t gonna let his suspicious behavior go,
And two, he fucking loves when you meddle in his life.
Tensions had been high in the office since he started becoming… more odd. It started with something small, him missing a singular deadline.
You know it’s one small mistake, but Kent isn’t one for mistakes. The entire time the two of you had been working together, he was ALWAYS early, no spelling or grammar mistakes, always on time when getting projects finished, the list goes on.
He’s your favorite coworker for these exact reasons. Or he was, when he *was* on top of his game.
Now, you spend every morning watching him come in disheveled and at least five minutes late, sipping on coffee with far too much sugar than necessary.
He’s always been diligent about keeping work and his… hobby separate; however, one slip-up was just enough to get you on edge. Clark didn’t mean to make a habit out of it, at least not at first. But when he came in late, the first time, his heart couldn’t help but skip a beat at the look on your face standing next to his desk with a cup of coffee.
Your coffee tended to be an acquired taste; you’d much rather be sipping on 5 Red Bulls to keep yourself awake, but that’s not too good for your health, so dumping a half cup of sugar in seemed like a better plan.
Today marks the third time this month that he’s come in 15 after, of course, you’ve been keeping track of his out-of-character behavior. You’re a journalist, it’s what you do.
Clark comes in with a donut between his lips, his phone to his ear, and glasses slipping down his nose. The guys start hounding him regarding his most recent paper. Teasing and prodding him while he speaks to his parents.
”Y/N? Any thoughts to add?” Jimmy questions with a sly smile, eyes shifting between Clark and you, a mischievous grin on his face.
Today has been an exhausting morning, and you’re sure as hell not in the mood for any of your coworkers' bullshit, especially Jimmy’s.
The more and more curious you get, the more you start to resent him, for not noticing how much you care and for hiding whatever this is from you. He lives rent-free in your brain. When you’re not thinking about work, you’re thinking about him and what he might be hiding. Even though it doesn’t *really* matter.
“Dunno.” Your tone is agitated and voice firm. Clark shoots a confused glance your way. After all, he’d gotten used to your critiques and to not recieve more than a simple word?
It was driving him crazy, to say the least.
Clark’s gaze has been shifting to you every ten minutes, on the dot. It’s becoming a compulsion. The Kryptonian couldn’t figure out for the life of him what could be wrong. You’re never this short with anyone and you never forget to hound him in the morning.
Before long, you hear a throat clearing in front of you. Glancing up, you see a pair of scuffed dress shoes, creased slacks, and unbuttoned cuffs before finally meeting the piercing blue eyes that go with it.
“Hey,” Clark awkwardly scratches his neck. You simply hum in response, eyes lowering to the empty Google tab you’ve been staring at for the past hour.
“We’re heading out for lunch, care to join?” You shake your head no, pretending to type something into the search bar. He fidgets with his sleeves for a second before giving you a short goodbye and heading out.
The second the room is mostly empty, you let out the exhausted sigh that’s been making your lungs sore.
You begin spinning in your chair, matching the swarm of thoughts in your mind, eyes closed, with your head facing the ceiling. Mainly that it’s beyond suspicious that only Clark has been able to get interviews with Superman.
Suddenly, the thought appears. You sit up straight and start searching through the pages of his work, looking for any hints. By the time the group is back in the office, bustling with conversation, a sandwich is gently placed in front of you.
“Stalking my work now, are you?” The sweet tone of Kent’s voice fills your ears. You spin around in your chair, staring up at his grin with narrowed eyes.
“Clark Kent.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you begin assessing the situation. On the one hand, if you are correct and he is Superman, then his identity deserves to be protected. However, it is bad journalism for him to put out these false reports.
His smile widens as he leans against the wall next to your desk. He is well acquainted with this facial expression of yours, and he knows that whatever comes next will be interesting. "Careful," he says, with a slight teasing tone, "Your investigative journalism is showing."
“Come with me.” You practically demand, grabbing the lunch he brought for you as you lead him off to the stairwell.
Kent doesn't even put up a fight; he just walks alongside you, curious about what you have in mind. He's used to your bossy tendencies, and he's developed a certain fondness for them. He does, however, raise an eyebrow at being led to the stairwell, his nerves beginning to build up.
“You have a secret,” you begin, once the two of you are in the confines of the closed-off space. “And I think I might’ve just figured it out…” You press a finger to his chest, slightly and gently pushing him toward the concrete wall.
Kent's eyes widen as you push him slightly, his back bumping against the concrete wall. His heart is now pounding in his chest, a mix of intrigue and nerves coursing through him. He tries to play it cool, though, and gives a sly smile. "Oh really? And what secret might I be hiding, exactly?" he asks, his tone a touch higher than usual.
“Either you *are* Superman or you know who is.” You keep your voice firm yet a slight whisper, making sure he knows you’ve caught on but no one else will hear. Your eyes stay locked on him and his face, watching his expression.
Kent's smirk falters for a moment as he processes your words. He swallows hard, realizing he's been found out. But he's too stubborn to admit it just yet, so he plasters a smirk back on his face and gives a dry chuckle. "That's quite a bold assumption, don't you think?" he challenges, avoiding eye contact.
"Bold? Certainly. However, you're the only one who has ever gotten an interview with him. Plus, recently you've been coming in late, looking like you've barely slept a wink." You take a step closer, getting into his personal space.
Kent's heart rate picks up even more as you step closer, his personal space shrinking by the second. Your observation skills have always been sharp, but right now they're downright lethal. He can feel his defenses weakening, and he knows that denying it won't work for long.
"Coincidence, really," he tries to brush it off, raising a hand in a gesture of nonchalance. "Everyone has off days, you know."
Realizing your tactics aren’t working, you decide on one last attempt at getting the truth. "I guess you're right," you sigh softly, taking a small bite from the sandwich he gave you. "I was just hoping you knew who he was. I have something I wanted to tell him.”
Kent's resolve starts to crumble even further, a mix of emotions warring on his face. He's torn between keeping his secret a secret and giving in to your relentless persistence. The way you nonchalantly bite into the sandwich, as if you haven't just been pinning him against a wall, is both endearing and irritating.
"Something you wanted to tell him?" he asks, the curiosity getting the better of him despite trying his best to remain cool and collected.
"Oh well, you know... All the ladies go crazy for him, and I'm no exception." You grin.
Kent's heart rate spikes at your admission, his mind racing. Hearing that you have a crush on his alter ego stirs up a mix of emotions in him; one part excitement, two parts concern. Trying to maintain his composure, he gives a weak smile. "Ah, so you're a hopeless fan-girl, huh?" he teases weakly.
"Not a hopeless fangirl." You shake your head, eyes watching the slight blush that continues to creep onto his skin. "I just want to spend... a night with him, if you get my drift." for extra effect you bite down on your bottom lip.
Kent's mouth goes dry as his eyes follow the motion involuntarily. He's finding it increasingly difficult to keep up his facade. He tries to come up with a witty comeback, but he's drawing a blank, his mind now occupied with the image of... well, certain things. "I... uhm..." he stutters, his tongue suddenly feeling heavy in his mouth.
"Clark, you're making it a tad obvious." You tease, brushing your finger against his jaw gently.
Kent's breath hitches as you brush your finger along his jaw, the touch sending shivers down his spine. He tries to pull himself together, but your proximity and the way you're eyeing him like you have him all figured out is making it damn near impossible.
He swallows again, his mind whirling. "Making what obvious?" he tries to play dumb, despite the fact that he knows exactly what you're talking about.
Sliding your hand down his face, to his neck, then his chest settling over his peck. "I'm not trying to expose your secret you know, just trying to see whats troubling you..." Standing on your tippy toes you whisper into his ear, "I know you're dying to tell me." with that, you take your leave.
Turning on your heels and exiting the stairs, taking another bite you settle back in at your desk, wondering if he'll admit it to you. Kent is left standing in the stairwell, dumbfounded, his body still tingling from your touch. Your whispered words ring in his ears, and he can't deny that you're absolutely right - he is desperate to tell you.
For a few minutes, he stands there, trying to collect his jumbled thoughts. Finally, he snaps out of it and straightens his clothes, attempting to regain composure before re-entering the office.
The rest of the day continues on quietly, with the two of you catching each others stares occasionally. The office is dim and empty besides the both of you staring at your screens and exchaing glances.
The tension between you and Kent is almost palpable. Time seems to move in slow motion as you type lazily and take occasional sips from your coffee. Every few minutes, like clockwork, your eyes dart to his, only to find him stealing a look first.
The once comfortable silence in the room is now filled with an air of anticipation, like a rubber band about to snap. Finally, you decide you've had enough. You stand up and strut over to Clark, stopping in front of his desk, arms crossed over your chest.
"Should we chat about earlier?" You lean over his monitor, your head just barely peeking over the screen.
Kent's heart rate spikes the second you approach his desk. He was hyper-aware of your every move, and now, with you leaning over his monitor, so close he could count the eyelashes on your eyelid, his body feels like it's on fire.
He tries to school his expression into a calm facade, although he's certain that you can see straight through it. "Yeah," he manages to croak out, his hand gripping the edge of his desk unconsciously. "I think we should."
You slide yourself up to sit on his desk, one leg crossed over the other, your skirt hiking up just enough for him to get a glimpse. He can't help the way his attention is drawn to the newly exposed skin, his breath hitching ever so lightly.
"So," you begin, the edge of your lips turning up in your signature smirk. "About that secret identity of yours…"
Kent's gaze flickers downwards momentarily, once again taking in the sight of your bare skin above your thigh. He swallows hard, trying to keep his thoughts and desires in check.
He clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the topic at hand, though the image of your exposed flesh is now seared into his brain. "Uh, right... that," he responds, his voice a bit hoarse.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, attempting to maintain some composure, but his body is betraying him, and he knows you can tell.
"Clark, I know that you're Superman. I'm not going to tell *anyone* but if you keep interviewing yourself all the time more people might become suspicious." You give him a reassuring smile, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.
Kent's eyes widen as you admit it so casually, but deep down, he's not truly surprised. As your hand gently lands on his shoulder, a mix of emotions flows through him - relief, worry, and a touch of admiration for your ability to figure it all out.
He takes a deep breath, the tension in his body melting away slightly at your reassurance. "How long have you known?" he finally manages to ask, his gaze now fully fixed on you, searching for any hint of deception.
"Just realized it today," you giggle softly, "I've known that something has been up for a while though."
Clark can't help but crack a small smile at your nonchalant attitude. Here you are, knowing the secret identity of a superhero, and yet, you're still sitting on his desk, legs crossed, completely unfazed.
He shakes his head, both amused and a little bewildered. "Of course you did," he says, a hint of admiration in his voice. "You're too damn observant for your own good, you know that?"
"I do know that," You inch closer to the edge of the desk, slipping your feet out of your heels. "I'm very observant, Clark, and *you're* not very good at keeping secrets." Your words are both teasing and laced with hidden meaning.
He tries to maintain a calm expression, but your proximity and the way you're looking at him make it damn near impossible. Clark can't help but notice how good you look perched on his desk, barefoot and slightly disheveled.
Your words hit him like a punch to the chest. *He is terrible at keeping secrets*, especially from you. His walls are crumbling, and he's struggling to keep up the facade. He can feel the heat burning in his cheeks, and he knows he's blushing like a fool. "Shut up," he grumbles weakly.
"Aw, don't be like that, big guy. You know you love it when I figure you out." You grin sweetly, legs crossed while leaning back on your palms. He's keenly aware of your every movement, and his brain is now running through a litany of inappropriate scenarios. Inwardly, he scolds himself; this is absolutely not the time.
Kent is caught off guard once more by your sweet, taunting demeanor. He's never quite sure how to respond when you get like this, flirty, teasing, confident.
He can't stop his gaze from roaming over your form, taking in the arch of your back, the way your skirt is riding up even further, exposing more of your skin. He lets out a soft, involuntary groan, his mind already wandering to places it shouldn't.
"Stop it," he huffs, his face now fully red. "This isn't fair, you know that."
"Don't pretend like you don't like this..." you slide your skirt up an inch, spreading your legs ever so slightly as you rest your feet on his knees. Every move you make is intentional. Teasing and calculating.
Clarks eyes widen involuntarily as you spread your legs, and his breath hitches in his throat. He hates the way his body is betraying him, the way his hands ache to touch every inch of your skin.
In a last attempt to retain some semblance of control, he grabs your ankles, stopping your movements altogether. "Enough," he manages to say, his voice gruff and strained with desire. "You're being cruel."
"Do you really want me to stop?" You slide your skirt up to your hips, fingers toying with the hem of the fabric.
Kent swallows hard, his throat suddenly impossibly dry. The image of you sitting on his desk, skirt bunched up around your hips, is driving him insane.
He knows he should say yes, he knows he should put an end to this little game of yours before it goes too far, but he can't bring himself to form the words. Instead, he finds himself slowly shaking his head, his gaze fixated on the exposed skin of your thighs.
"Do I need to pleasure myself? In front of you, begging for you?" You slide your foot over his bulge, pressing your toes into the fabric of his slacks. "Or are you going to do it for me?"
Kent's eyes darken with desire, and a low growl escapes his throat. His grip on your ankle tightens, his fingers trembling slightly. Your words, coupled with the sensual motion of your foot, are pushing him to the edge of his self-control.
"Y/N," he warns, his voice heavy with arousal. "Don't tempt me."
"Fuck me, Clark." Your reply is short, yet full of need.
With those three words, and that look in your eyes, his last thread of self-restraint snaps.
He's on his feet in an instant, his hands on your thighs, roughly pulling you forward. His lips crash into yours with a passion that surprises even him. He kisses you hungrily, his hands roaming over your body, desperate to touch every inch of you.
Clark lifts you off the desk, his hands strong yet tender as he sets you on your feet, his lips never leaving yours. The tension in the room is thick with desire, and your breaths come out in ragged pants.
Both of you are eagerly touching each others bodys, desperate to feel every inch. Reaching into your skirt pocket you pull out a condom, a smirk playing on your lips as you toss it up at him. He catches it in midair, the plastic wrapping crackling in the silence.
You fumble with his belt, fingers swiftly pulling his pants down before reaching for the condom and sliding it on his length. You look up at him, transfixed by the way his gaze devours you. He lifts you again, this time placing you gently onto his desk, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat building between you.
He steps closer, aligning his body with yours, and slowly begins to enter you. You gasp into his mouth, the sensation of him filling you sending waves of pleasure through your body. He moves slowly at first, savoring every inch, slowly sliding into your tightness, his eyes searching yours for any sign of pain or discomfort. But all he finds is pure, unbridled passion.
Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as he starts to pick up the pace. His hips rock into you in a steady rhythm, his muscles flexing with each powerful thrust. You can feel yourself getting closer, the pressure building deep within you, and you know it won't be long now.
With a gentle growl, he lifts you off the desk and carries you to his chair, the need to hold you closer consuming him. He sits down, pulling you onto his lap, your legs straddling him. This new position allows for a deeper connection, and he takes full advantage, his hands gripping your hips as he guides you to ride him.
Your breasts bounce with every movement, and he can't resist cupping them in his hands, fingers massaging the soft skin beneath your shirt. You moan, throwing your head back, and he feels your muscles tighten around him.
You're close, so very close.
Clark's hands glide up your body, his thumbs brushing over your skin, sending bolts of pleasure straight to your core. His touch is gentle, yet firm, and it's driving you wild. You rock against him, the friction sending sparks flying through your veins.
He reaches up to cup your face, his thumbs tracing your jawline as he stares into your eyes, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. "You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice raw with need.
The words spur you on, and you begin to move faster, grinding down on him, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He matches your rhythm, his own breaths coming out as moans of pleasure. You lean in to kiss him again, your tongues dancing together as the tension reaches its peak.
With a final, deep thrust, you come apart in his arms, your orgasm ripping through you like a supernova. He follows shortly after, his own release intense and all-consuming. The two of you cling to each other, panting and sweaty, lost in the aftermath of your passion.
For a moment, the world outside the office fades away, and it's just the two of you, wrapped up in the intimate embrace, hearts pounding in unison.
As your breathing slowly returns to normal, you lean your forehead against his, your eyes closed, savoring the feeling of his still-hard member inside you. "Clark," you murmur, the word a mix of satisfaction and awe.
He presses a soft kiss to your temple, his own heart racing. "Y/N," he whispers back, his voice a mix of love and wonder.
Clark's hands trace patterns on your back, soothing and gentle, as you both try to come to terms with what's happened. You've crossed a line, one that you can never uncross, and yet, neither of you seems to mind.
The air hangs heavy with the weight of what the two of you have just experienced. Bodies still intertwined, breaths mingling, minds trying to process the incredible intensity of the moment.
Clark's hands are still roaming over your body, tracing the curve of your hips, the arch of your back, as if he's trying to imprint every inch of you into his memory.
His forehead still pressed against yours, eyes closed, he speaks again, his voice soft, almost reverential. "That... that was..." he stumbles for the right words.
"Good, so fucking good," you mumble, still breathless. Slowly, you move from his lap, allowing him to clean himself up as you slide your clothes back on. "Should we grab some dinner?"
Clark, still slightly dazed, nods in agreement as he straightens up his clothes. He can't help but steal glances at you as you nonchalantly smooth out your skirt, as if the two of you didn't just have an earth-shattering moment.
"That sounds good," he finally manages to say, his voice a little gravelly. He runs a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, attempting to compose himself. "Sushi?"
“Perfect.” you nod in agreement, standing on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips, arms wrapping around his neck.
