day seven: Lois Lane and sister!reader that's dating Lex Luthor
"Are you seriously hearing yourself? You want me to stop writing articles about LexCorp because...?" She should've shut down this relationship the minute you told her about it. Of course, that asshole wormed his way into your naive heart and twisted it. The bruise on your shoulder was reason enough.
"He thinks I'm telling you information! You have to stop and tell Clark to do the same. He gets so angry."
"So you admit that all of the things we're reporting on are true? You hear all of it and still want to be with a man like that? Maybe you deserve it." She knew it was harsh, but you were apparently too stupid to see reason. Not the same girl who would hit an old boyfriend's truck with a golf club when he was caught in another girl's bed.
"He loves me, Lois. You're just jealous that you and Clark don't have what we have!" You defended, knowing that deep down, she was right. Lex was a user, and he was using you as a means to an end, but that didn't stop you from falling for the man.
"Jealous? I wouldn't be jealous of a man who hits me. Or one that leaves you crying on the side of the road because my sister made him mad. See reason." She pleads. She'd do anything to have her sister back.
It was nearly one in the morning and you were on your knees in the back of a limo with Lex Luthor’s cock stuffed down your throat. His hands were entangled in your hair and pressing the back of your head further down.
There wasn’t a real reason that you kept coming back to him other than your own addiction to humiliation. If your friends knew, they’d either give you that all too familiar disappointed sigh or cook you over sleeping with a bald guy.
“That’s it, babygirl.” He moans, leaning his head back. He was a man of routine and repetition. When his grip gets tighter and he starts to buck up into you, he’s close to finishing. “You’ll swallow it all for Daddy, yeah?”
You had never uttered the word Daddy to him. That was a moniker he awarded to himself when he wanted to feel superior to you. You moan in response.
His warm cum shot into your throat, and you did your best to swallow without choking over it.
Once you finally sat in the seat and wiped the remnants of him from your lips, he was on his phone. He glanced up for a moment, grimacing. "You're still here?"
day two: been thinking of this idea with homelander. lmk if you wanna see it fully fleshed out!
"Tell me it's not true!" You nearly tripped over yourself trying to catch up with Homelander's long strides down the hall. Your heels threatened to snap.
He groaned and finally stopped, causing you to walk right into his chest. "What do you want me to say?"
"Say you're not fucking that old hag behind my back and that you're a loyal boyfriend." You step back, feeling much smaller in his shadow.
The hall was completely empty, a bit unusual considering it was midday on a Tuesday. Maybe they were out to lunch.
"Christ, you're still upset by this? I've been with Stilwell longer than we've even known each other. You can't start making demands like some controlling-" He stopped himself, not wanting to make you angrier.
"Finish it."
"Like some controlling bitch." He spat. "You don't fuck other guys because you're mine. I can do whatever I damn well please because I'm Homelander." He shoved your chest enough to have you stumbling back.
You crossed your arms. "No. You're wrong. You're mine just as much as I am yours! I'll prove it."
He smirked. "Yeah? Weak little human's gonna prove how she owns me?"
"You're gonna invite Stilwell to your room. She's gonna sit her ass down and watch me fuck you. You and I both know she can't give you what I can." Your voice was firm, with stupid determination.
He looked down at you, considering. "You want to show her that you tamed the big, bad Homelander? Let's go, then."
day three: college au Riddler as the nerd who teaches the popular girl a lesson (no really smut)
The numbers in his workbook melded together the harder he tried to focus on them. For a moment, he wondered if he had ADD or maybe some kind of learning disability that he’d only recently discovered. No. There was a problem, but it was far from his fault. He only had these attention issues when you were in the room and running your mouth about some petty drama between your sorority sisters.
“She’s just being ridiculous. How does she expect us to side with her in the breakup when we all know she was sleeping with her TA? Not all of us are sluts.” Edward could have burst into laughter right then. You had no right to speak of the sleeping habits of others when he had to purchase noise-canceling headphones just to get a semblance of sleep whenever you spent the night.
His poor, stupid, pussy-whipped roommate barely reacted to your story. He was on the verge of a nap that would last until two in the morning, as usual. “She’s the worst.” For a moment, Edward listened in intentionally to see if you were smart enough to realize his lack of attention.
“What do you think?” In his peripherals, he could see you looking in his direction. He chose not to react, instead, he returned to his homework with the few seconds of silence that he had. “I know you’re not doing any work, Eddie. Haven’t heard your loud ass pencil in a few minutes.”
He fucking hated Eddie. As a child, he always imagined that his mother would’ve called him that. He would’ve brought home a perfect score on a test in school and she would have given him a kiss on the cheek and told him that she was proud of him.
Maybe his father would’ve used it. When he fought back against the school bullies, he’d get sent home to get scolded by his mother until his father returned home. Expecting punishment, he would get a firm pat on the back and a quiet “Atta boy, Eddie.”
Nobody was there to call him that, though. It only built up resentment for the nickname he was deprived of. “I don’t give a shit.” In the beginning of the semester, he’d actually tried to play nice with you. He didn’t miss those days where he had to hold back his tongue at the borderline idiotic things you would never shut up about.
He returned to his work. Only a few more lines to fill in until he was finished for tonight. “You don’t have to be the stereotype of the STEM major. You know, like, not being antisocial.”
You were relentless. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually quite social. I just associate myself with people of a higher caliber of intelligence.”
“I have a 4.0 and have been on the Dean’s list every semester since I got here.” You crossed your arms and sat up straighter.
He dropped his pencil on his desk and finally turned to face you. “A 4.0 in music theory is nowhere near a 4.0 in a real academic course load.” There was no way that you were even good at what you did, not like it was hard. The only time that he’s seen you was in his room, never outside or on campus accidentally. It was possible that you spent your time in the music building, one that he had no use for anything he did and had never been in, but that idea was not plausible whatsoever.
“I’d like to see you try to compose a symphony while you’ve got six other classes to tackle. Most music classes are literally half a credit. You wouldn’t believe my work load and I still have time for a social life. Seems like you’re struggling with a little bit of math.” Your voice acquired a bit of a mocking tone, not that you weren’t afraid to use it on Edward. Someone needed to take the pretentious loser down a peg and it might as well be you.
“Don’t need what you define as a social life.” He grumbled into his paper, trying to finish the last few lines so he could at least go into the lounge and read a book or something. Maybe practice his coding. Anything to get away from you.
You shook your head. He was ridiculous, as always. “When was the last time you’ve gotten any? Or, oh, you’ve never done it before?” Your boyfriend stirred in his sleep, but only rolled over and continued to lightly snore. “Is that it? You’re a sad, little virgin?”
He slammed his hands against the desktop and stood, pushing his chair back enough that it scraped against the floor. “As opposed to what? A dumb fucking whore like you?”
You pushed your boyfriend’s legs off of your lap and hopped off of the bed. “Like me?” Standing in front of him, you were reminded of how tall he was. Over six feet at least. Everything about him gave 5’7 at most. You never considered yourself a short person, but this was ridiculous.
“You’re used to everyone lying to you, but I don’t give a shit about your feelings. You’re nothing but dumb cunt that’ll spread her legs for the first football team idiot who walks up to her.” He was in your face now, a distance you’ve never been before with him.
“Is this the closest you’ve ever been to a woman? Or are you just jealous I don't spread my legs for you?” He gripped your chin and squeezed just under your cheekbones, forcing your mouth to stay open. He smirked at your shock.
"Listen to me, bitch." He spit in your mouth, then held your jaw shut. “Your boyfriend may be hypnotized by your mediocre pussy, but I have brains. And standards. Now, swallow.”
Something about his command sent shockwaves between your legs. You tasted his saliva on your tongue, then swallowed as he said.
It was as if he could see the confusion and arousal swirling within your eyes. A smirk rose. “You’re getting all worked up over me, huh?”
You pulled away from his grasp. “Not at all.”
He crossed his arms. “You’re not dripping through those lace panties? Please."
Emilia had been unconscious for days now. Everyone left the battle at Coverdale Ranch hanging on to their lives by threads, including you. She got the worst of it.
Adebayo and John went back to work, and Vigilante disappeared. That left you and Chris to wait for Harcourt to wake up.
You return to the hospital's waiting room and take your seat next to him. "I brought ice cream from the good place by the bowling alley." You hand him a cup with his favorite flavor and a plastic spoon. Vigilante would've lectured you on hurting the planet.
He forces a smile and takes it. "Thanks, kid."
Kid. It's like he didn't even see you. He was there for her, but you were there for him. You were the same age as Adrian, and he never called him 'kid'.
You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "She's gonna be fine. She's a fighter."
He puts a spoonful of the ice cream in his mouth and sighs. "It's just...I finally found the love of my life and now, I don't even know if she'll make it."
You hold your heartbreak back. She was the love of his life. It was never going to be you.
In the middle of the woods with a bunch of repressed teenagers and no wifi was the last thing on Gideon's mind when he thought of fun activities.
He inhaled the blunt you had given to him, looking out at the lake and the light of the moon's reflection. He knew he shouldn't, but he needed some alone time. Well, alone time with you.
He handed the blunt to you. "I used to come here as a kid. It always seemed so much bigger. And with less spiders in the bathrooms."
"You seemed like one of the kids that had religious epiphanies here. Speaking in tongues in the middle of worship." You quip, passing the blunt back.
Gideon shrugs and inhales the smoke. "Maybe. Smartass."
“Are you familiar with yoga?” Crane asks as he walks you towards his office. There was something about this session that scared you more than usual. He had told you about trying new for this session and to wear something you’d be comfortable working out in.
Clearly, you were aware of yoga. It’s not like you lived under a rock. You still went to physical therapy twice a week ever since the accident. “Is…that what we’re doing today?”
He shrugged. "Something like that."
You both enter the small room. The couch is pushed back further to make more room for whatever was happening. You trust Dr. Crane with all of your deepest secrets, this can't be too bad.
"Now, kneel on the mat here." With a hand on your lower back, he guides you to the yoga mat. Once on your knees, he takes your hands and moves you to be in a sort of bridge position. "Good. Good."
He stands and walks around you. "You see, a lot of stress likes to manifest throughout the body rather than just the head. Weight gain, aches and pains...Let's try some new-age therapy."
He positions himself behind you and presses himself against the curve of your ass. His hands start at your hips and dig up to your waist. "You feel that? It's supposed to take that stress right out of your body."
He nearly drapes his body over yours, caressing your sides. It did...sort of feel better. You can't help the strange feeling that lingers in your abdomen when he touched you like that.
It had been a while. "I feel it, Dr. Crane."
By the way he pressed onto you further and gripped you a little tighter, he felt it, too.
day six: Sam Wilson making sure you're okay after fighting red hulk
Sam nearly lost the fight, not because of anything physical, though. He had felt fear for the first time in a long time when Ross had thrown a car in your direction.
He retracted his wings and ran as fast as he could to you once he knew the fight was over.
Your hair was tousled, and some cuts littered your face. "Oh, baby. I'm so sorry. I should've protected you." He stumbled over his words, gloved hands tracing the injuries you suffered.
"Hey, hey. I'm okay. It missed me. I'm okay. We're okay." You took his wrists and looked up at him with a reassuring smile. The fight was done. It was just him and you. No monsters or aliens. No Captain America. Just you.
