Flufftober Day Five
Prompt: “No decorating.” “…fine you can decorate”
Pairing: Lex Luthor [ dcu ] x Reader
tags/warnings: none (?)
Summary: Lex Luthor forbids his usually obedient housewife from decorating their penthouse for fall, so after two weeks of her quietly ignoring him, he finally gives in and lets her decorate—with limits—leading to a relieved, fluffy reunion.
Word Count: 1,126
All Dividers in each story this month are by: solitary-serendipity 🤎
read my other flufftober stories here | Flufftober 2025
You should have known better than to bring it up during breakfast—Lex hated distractions when he was reading reports. Still, you’d been feeling restless, craving something cozy to soften the sharp edges of the penthouse. Cinnamon candles, soft throw blankets, maybe a few garlands and pumpkins… something warm to make fall feel real instead of a date on a calendar.
“I was thinking,” you began, carefully slicing into your toast, “maybe we could decorate a little for fall? Just the living room, nothing crazy—”
Lex didn’t even look up from the holographic display hovering above the table. “No.”
Your fork paused. “No?”
“It’s a ridiculous idea,” he said, as if swatting a fly. Tone flat, final. Eyes still focused elsewhere.
You blinked, the smallest sting landing right behind your ribs. “Ridiculous?”
He finally glanced at you then—brows lifted, vaguely amused that you were surprised. “This is a multi-million dollar penthouse, not a craft store.”
Your shoulders fell before you could stop them. “I wasn’t going to glue glitter to the windows, Lex. Just… some fall accents. You know, to make it feel cozy and more homey.”
“I said no.” He dismissed you by looking back at his display. “That should be the end of the conversation.”
Normally, it would’ve been. You were used to his dominance, used to being his soft, obedient constant in a world of sharks. He didn’t have to raise his voice or threaten—Lex Luthor never needed to. One firm sentence and you’d melt.
But the way he’d said ridiculous…
You didn’t argue. But you didn’t speak again either. Not that morning.
⸻
The first day, Lex didn’t notice your silence. You still made the bed precisely, still cooked dinner the way he liked, still wore those pretty dresses he adored. You just… didn’t try to make conversation. He talked, you hummed or nodded. When he kissed your cheek, you let him, but you didn’t lean in like usual.
By day three, he noticed.
“You’re quiet,” he said one evening, loosening his tie as he entered the bedroom. You were folding laundry, lips parted just a little, eyes down.
“Mhm.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
He tilted his head, studying you like a problematic equation. “You’re not upset about the decoration nonsense, are you?”
You did not look at him. “You said it was ridiculous.”
“And it is.” He slipped behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. Normally you’d melt into him, tilt your head, sigh. Instead, you set down the shirt in your hands and stepped away under the guise of putting things in the closet.
He froze.
He didn’t say anything about it at first, but you could feel him assessing you every time you moved. You still did everything he expected—house immaculate, meals timely, clothes pressed, his routines anticipated—but you were quiet. Distant. Not bratty. Just… not his usual perfectly pliant darling.
And it unnerved him.
⸻
After a week, Lex started trying to bait you back into conversation.
At breakfast, he’d say something dryly humorous just to see if you’d laugh. You’d smile politely and eat your yogurt. Passing him in the hallway, he’d tap your hip and say, “Careful, darling,” just to get a reaction. You’d murmur “sorry” and keep going.
The fourth night, he’d come home from a meeting later than usual. You’d already eaten. His dinner was still warm on the stove in a covered dish. His suit jacket was on its hanger. His files had been organized and moved to his office like you always did.
Everything was perfect—except you didn’t greet him. You didn’t kiss his jaw or ask how his day was. You were reading on the couch, curled under a blanket without inviting him to join.
Lex stood there for a full minute, watching you. Waiting.
You didn’t even look up.
⸻
By the end of the second week, you figured either he’d forget entirely or he’d put you over his knee for acting off. He was never cruel, but he could be cold when crossed. You weren’t trying to punish him—you just couldn’t bring yourself to keep pretending your feelings weren’t bruised.
That afternoon, you were upstairs in your shared bedroom, hair tied back, cozy in one of his old shirts, reading while the rain tapped the glass. You didn’t hear him come in—you were too lost in the chapter.
“Fine.”
His voice cut through the quiet.
Your eyes lifted from the page. Lex was standing in the doorway, jacket off, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable.
You blinked. “Fine, what?”
He exhaled through his nose like it irritated him to repeat himself. “Decorate.”
You sat up slowly, unsure you’d heard right. He stepped further in, arms crossing.
“But nothing over the top,” he added sharply, like the concession physically pained him. “No inflatable pumpkins. No paper bats hanging from the ceiling. And absolutely no scented pinecones.”
Your heart thudded hard in your chest. “Really?”
He gave a small, strained nod. “If it will end this… whatever this is—yes.”
For a fraction of a second, he looked almost uncomfortable, as though admitting defeat violated some internal code. Then you moved.
You shot off the bed so fast his eyes widened. Then you threw yourself into his arms with a delighted gasp, nearly knocking him backward.
“Lex!”
He caught you reflexively, hands firm on your waist. Your legs wrapped around his hips like instinct. You cupped his face and kissed him, hard and happy and breathless.
He let out a startled huff against your mouth, then his grip tightened and he kissed you back, low and urgent. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, but there was no bite in it.
“You’re the best,” you said against his jaw, and you meant it.
“Mm. You’ve been insufferable.”
“You called me ridiculous.”
His hands flexed against your thighs. “…It was a poor word choice.”
You leaned back enough to look at him, eyes shining. “You hurt my feelings.”
He didn’t flinch, but his gaze flickered. “I noticed.” A pause. “I didn’t like it.”
You kissed him again, softer. “Thank you for letting me decorate.”
“I said nothing excessive,” he warned, as if he needed the last word. “Subtle. Elegant. And if I see a single plastic scarecrow, I’ll set it on fire.”
You giggled and nuzzled into his neck. “Deal.”
Lex carried you to the bed without putting you down, lips brushing your ear as he muttered, “Next time you want something, try asking once instead of staging a silent rebellion.”
“You wouldn’t have listened,” you said simply.
He didn’t argue—because you were right.
But when you lifted your head to smile at him again, he blinked like he was surprised by how much he’d missed it.
And for the first time in two weeks, he kissed you first.
