the millions of people that call out to him for help, every day, all the time on earth? think of that scene in a new hope when obi-wan senses all of those voices snuffing out after the death star destroys alderaan—while he’s on the millennium falcon lightyears away.

clark literally cannot escape it. the force flows through everything—including the stars. clark can’t just leave the atmosphere for a few precious moments of peace like he could in regular canon. the force follows him, and he follows the force. he hears every scream, every cry for help. he feels every death and birth and knows what it is to feel the loss of an entire planet.

like zor-el is like, jor-el is so fuckin' weird.

“Yes! That’s the spot! Don’t stop, Bruce— Oh!”

Your husband couldn’t help his quiet chuckle. You were so sensitive. Don’t get me wrong! Bruce thought it was cute, really, endearing even.

It was just ironic, because you were the one who had insisted on wearing those high heels all night. And that, even though he’d brought you a pair of more comfortable shoes—ever the thoughtful husband.

“Oh, it’s fine, Bruce! I’ll survive,” you had said then.

Now, you wished you would’ve listened to him as blisters scattered the soles of your feet from dancing all night, and your thighs ached terribly.

After arriving home, you’d immediately thrown yourself on your shared bed. After shaking his head at your whining with a smile, he stepped closer to you and took off those heels for you. When you winced at the sensation, Bruce hummed soothingly.

His hand moved upward, and for a moment you thought that he was going to help relieve you from the pain in a different way, but once he began kneading the flesh there, you were moaning regardless.

You didn’t even have to ask Bruce to massage you; he had just started doing so silently—no complaints or gloating about how he was right.

Your eyes fluttered shut while his touch eased your pain away slowly but surely. Bruce spoke your name softly, and you opened your eyes begrudgingly. The sight of him was definitely worth it, though.

He had unbuttoned his dress shirt by now. Tie hanging around his neck loosely, his fingers worked their way through the tense muscles of your aching thighs that lay over his lap. You were sure you were in heaven.

What had you done in your past life to deserve a man like Bruce? Intelligent, built like a greek god, and owner of magic hands, clearly!

“Is it better now, my love?” You were about to scoff at his question when his fingers dug deeper into the tender tissue of your left thigh, and your lips formed into an O-shape instead. “Yes!” you squealed.

“Good. Because I think I have another idea to help you with the pain.”

Oh, so he was going to help distract you like that.

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“C’mere, sweetheart.” Oh, you would come, all right.

I mean, goddamn it, how could a person’s voice be that deep and raspy? A flush was working its way across your cheeks just from hearing those few words already. You were running hot, and your heart was pounding against your ribcage erratically. Fuck, were you really that easy now? An amused, little smirk and a lilt, and you were giddy?

It wasn’t like you to be so easily wooed. Not at all, actually. Perhaps you had an espresso martini too much, or maybe two. Either way, if there was any man in the world that would justify such an unusual lack of restraint, it would have to be Bruce Wayne, Gotham City’s most eligible bachelor. Well, that is until you would dig your claws into him, at least.

You weren’t planning on letting this man go anywhere any time soon. Unless he would go home with you. That, you would be okay with.

Now that you thought of it, what else could Bruce possibly do with that sweet mouth of his? Or his long, thick fingers— “Did you not hear me?”

You snapped out of your increasingly dirty-minded thoughts as Bruce inched closer to you. Had you forgotten to reply? Oh well. “Hm?” A hum was all you could offer as a response. Blown pupils locked onto the man towering over you as you swayed forward, before catching yourself—hands landing on Bruce’s chest. You contemplated giving the rock-solid muscles a squeeze when Bruce took ahold of your chin.

Gently, he raised it and took a good look at you. A dopey smile spread across your face upon receiving his undivided attention now. “How much have you had to drink?” A playful giggle slipped past your lips.

“Why? Y’want to buy me a drink, handsome?” Pretty bold question for someone who was practically slurring every second word leaving her mouth. Cute though, Bruce thought involuntarily. Shaking his head in visible entertainment, he denied your suggestion, “I don’t think you could handle another one.” There was a glint in your eyes when you countered his claim, “I can handle much more than you think.”

Bruce could barely contain his chuckle at your innuendo. “Oh, yeah?” he asked you—his tone almost challenging. Nodding, your face neared his. Bruce could see the way you were looking at him; like he was a prize you weren’t willing to let anyone else stake a claim on. Truthfully, he wasn’t quite sure if he should feel flattered or slightly offended, but luckily for you, he was leaning towards the former.

“Want me to prove it?” Now you were really just asking for it. Calloused fingers left your chin to travel across the burning skin of your cheek, before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Bruce cocked his head to the side. The motion was subtle but devastating in its effect on you.

“And how do you plan to do that?” he asked, but in your mind this was more of an invitation than an inquiry—one you were eager to accept.

“Come and find—” You were in the middle of yet another attempt at seducing Bruce into going home with you when suddenly you stopped short, your face scrunching up into a frown. Oh no, were you going to—

Blegh! Okay, so there went Bruce’s new pair of black dress shoes.

Best believe you didn’t drink another espresso martini for two months after this incident. At least Bruce didn’t have it in him not to take you home after seeing the state you were in. Win some, lose some, right?

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Psych (2006)

Carlton Lassiter, Shawn Spencer, Burton Guster

hiiii hiii!! here's my little (for now) master list!! currently working on getting it longer!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

꒰ — 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 — ꒱

“Blimey, how did this even happen?” Enzo Berkshire whispered from the entrance of the Slytherin Common Room, his eyebrows furrowed at the sight across the room.

“I don’t think even they know, mate,” Blaise Zabini said, the stone entrance wall shutting behind where he stood transfixed, his dark-brown eyes locked on the two entangled dozers.

You and Theodore Nott had both skipped out on dinner for the night, opting instead to work on the Potions essay Snape had assigned the pair of you — which you had both conveniently pushed off for weeks, and immediately regretted once you saw the workload that had been assigned.

Your identical copies of Advanced Potion Making lay open on the small table in front of the fireplace, along with twenty other library books you had borrowed; which Madam Pince would have a right fit about if she saw the notes you had sprawled in the margins.

Somehow, the two of you had ended up curled together on one of the leather sofas in the Common Room, your three-foot essay on Golpalott’s Third Law long forgotten.

Theo’s head was dangling off the arm of the sofa, his brunette curls tousled. Your head was resting on his chest, one hand placed over his beating heart. His arms were locked around you, holding you flush against him, your shallow breaths syncing with one another.

“Should we wake them?” Pansy Parkinson asked, her arms crossed as she stared at your sleeping forms.

“Ah, let ‘em rest,” Mattheo Riddle said, taking a swig from a bottle of Butterbeer he had brought back from the Great Hall for Theo. “Theo’s been having a hard time sleeping for days now, anyway.”

Draco Malfoy smirked, watching as Theo instinctively pulled you closer to him as he slept.

“Someone should go find that little blond stepstool who’s always following Potter around with that camera,” he suggested. “This is way too good to pass up.”

© 𝓐𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒