Lex Luthor hating Superman just because of who/what he is (an other) not because of anything Superman does, much less anything Superman has done to Lex is important as it can be another angle of "Superman is a Jewish character"
So much of antisemitism is baseless, oh sure Jew haters will make up an excuse for why they have to beat, abuse, discriminate, and kill Jews, but it's really nothing, that or it's a delusional perception of the Jews doing something to them
Exactly like Luthor
He has his excuses for why he must destroy Superman, his justifications that make murdering a good innocent man OK, Superman is holding humanity back, Superman's out to dominate and destroy humanity, Superman secretly plots against mankind
Oh hey look, it's that brand of antisemitic conspiracy
my kryptonite - lex luthor (nicholas hoult version - superman 2025)
ᯓ pairing lex luthor x naive!finance!reader
ᯓ summary to you, lex luthor is your superman—loving, protective, and misunderstood. but when superman tries to pull you away, lex uses a hidden device he implanted in you months ago to keep you by his side. you wake in his summer home, aching but devoted, still calling him your hero. because no matter what he’s done, he’ll always be your superhero, and you’ll always be his kryptonite.
ᯓ genre angst • comfort (twisted tho) • psychological romance • dark romance • drama
ᯓ warning emotional manipulation • gaslighting controlling relationship • power imbalance • involuntary bodily control (shock device) • mentions of confinement (pocket universe cells) • superhero vs. villain themes with moral ambiguity • dubious consent regarding bodily autonomy • possessiveness
Lex, brilliant and sharp-edged, who saw the world as a puzzle to solve and humanity as a riddle he could never quite figure out. The world saw a villain. She saw the man who brought her roses after being away longer than he said, who memorized the way her voice caught when she talked about the stars above their penthouse, her feel like the only person in the world worth protecting.
And in his arms, she felt safe. Untouchable. Chosen.
Even when the news called him dangerous. Even when he stared too long at the television whenever Superman appeared. Even when he disappeared for hours—blood on his collar and fire in his eyes—only to return and kiss her knuckles like nothing had happened.
To her, Lex was the hero. The real Superman. Her superman
⸻
“If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?”
She sat on the marble edge of the rooftop garden he built for her, legs dangling over the side, dressed in his shirt and nothing else. The Metropolis skyline flickered below. Lex stood behind her, arms crossed, eyes locked on the sky like it had wronged him personally.
“If I go crazy,” he said suddenly, voice low, “will you still call me Superman?”
She turned, confused but smiling. “What?”
He stepped closer, crouched beside her. “You call me that sometimes,” he murmured, brushing her hair back. “Superman. Your Superman.” His eyes searched hers. “But if I lost everything—my company, my mind, if I became… unrecognizable to everyone else. Would you still believe in me?”
“Of course I would,” she said, reaching to cup his cheek. “You’ve always been my hero. The world just doesn’t understand you.”
Something shattered behind his gaze. A quiet relief. A storm contained.
He kissed her possessively. “That’s why you’re my kryptonite,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re the only one who makes me weak. But I’d burn the world before I ever let you go.”
⸻
“If I'm alive and well, will you be there a holding my hand?”
Weeks later, the penthouse was quiet. Cold. She waited patiently on the couch in his office dressed in a silver sparkly dress waiting to go to dinner, she watched as he typed something furiously into his laptop, his jaw clenched. Something had happened—Superman again, probably. But she knew better than to ask.
Then, softly:
“If I’m alive and well,” he asked, not looking up at her, “will you be there holding my hand?”
Her smile was instinct. She crossed the room and slid onto his lap, he protectively wrapped his arms around her midsection. “I’m always with you, Lex. I don’t care how strong or weak you are. I’m not like them.”
“Them” meaning the women who tried to mold him. Who betrayed him. The ones now locked in the pocket universe he never let her near.
He kissed the side of her temple, but this time his touch lingered. Almost too long.
“You’re different,” he whispered into her hair. “And I need to keep you that way.”
⸻
“I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might”
The moment was slipping — spiraling.
Superman’s voice rang out like thunder through the chaos of shattered glass and sirens:
“You don’t know what he’s done to you!”
Her chest heaved. Her hands trembled. Somewhere deep inside, something did feel wrong. Like a door had been cracked open in her mind.
She stepped back—toward Lex.
And he saw it. The hesitation.
“Don’t,” he warned, quietly. Not to Superman—to her.
But then she spoke, voice trembling: “Maybe I should just talk—”
Click.
The shock was instant. White-hot electricity shot through her spine like a whip. Her legs gave out. Her vision sparked and burned as she crumpled to the marble floor.
Superman yelled your name. But Lex’s voice was louder.
“My wife.”
⸻
She woke slowly. Blinking against soft light and crisp white sheets. The scent of salt and sea drifted through the cracked window.
The summer house. Their “safe place.”
Her body ached. Her head throbbed. But her first instinct wasn’t fear.
It was worry.
“Lex…?”
She found him by the edge of the bed, shirt rumpled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, eyes rimmed with something she’d almost call guilt.
He didn’t look at her.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he muttered, fingers knotted in his lap. “You panicked. You were going to leave me.”
She sat up slowly, blinking at him. “I wasn’t—Lex, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You flinched,” he said softly. “Like I was the villain.”
“I was scared. That’s all. There was yelling and Superman—he was saying so many things—”
“He lies,” Lex snapped, then immediately softened. “He’s always lied about me. But not you. You’re the only one who’s ever seen me for what I am.”
Her eyes welled. She touched his face. “You’re my Superman, Lex. I don’t blame you. You were just protecting me.”
He stared at her like she was unreal.
“I just… couldn’t lose you.” He says softly.
She didn’t flinch.
She only smiled.
“You won’t. Ever.”
He leaned into her palm, feeling the coldness of the expensive ring he’d proposed with. “You’re my kryptonite,” he whispered. “And I’d rather burn the world than let you forget it.”
She kissed him—softly, like forgiveness. Like loyalty. Like love.
“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.
Or
After a failed attempt to rob Lex Luthor, you end up working for him, stealing to pay off your debt. He’s easily the worst “boss” you’ve ever had.
Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Catwoman!Reader, Thief!Reader, Cuddling, Enemies to Lovers, Denial of Feelings, Teasing, Implied Smut but No Smut, Aftercare, Injury, Mentions of Blood, Lex Luthor Being Mean, Lex Luthor Being Soft (he's multifaceted), Reader Being a Little Shit, Reader breaks something and has to repay Lex Ouran High School Host Club style
WC: 3.6k
A/N: Link to request here which fits in so perfectly with a fic I was already writing, thank you @angel-sweetheart911. I also fulfilled this request from my old account linked here, thank you anon. Hope you enjoy the fic :)
***
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.”
