can't sleep so i'm thinking about fucking clark in a hot tub. yep.
tags: pwp, hot tub sex, p-in-v, f!reader (600+ wc)
—
something about the air, stuffy, warm with residual steam and lavender. the want doesn't kick in until he shifts, scented water gliding down his chest. the usually curly tuft of hair tamed and glistening with essential oils.
the waters gently sloshing as you settle next to him, and his arms naturally coming up to rest along the edge of the tub behind you. letting out a long, shallow breath that only draws your gaze to his chest in your peripherals.
neither of your make a move instantly, not until the water has cooled enough, leaving behind that hazy, buzzy intimate air that begged for some sort of touch. it comes in the manner your calves drag all the way up his legs, a contact seemingly harmless, but enough to stoke the fire.
it's an appreciative kiss that's offered initially. head dipped to capture your lips, paired with a mumble — greatfulness that you'd orchestrated this whole getaway deal so he could unwind for once. his hands slide past the wet skin on your shoulders, pushing back the resistance of water just to rub at the fat of your hips.
but then it deepens.
the casual connection, the kiss of appreciation, replaced with a sensation that burns much hotter when his gaze meets your half lidded ones. you're noticeably breathing deeper into the kisses, thighs slid over his lap, arms around his shoulders in attempt to feel as much of him as you could've.
you feel his thumb halt you movements as soon as he feels that hike in his pulse.
the waters…cooling.
a frown interrupts your lusty haze, but it doesn't warrant you to stop mouthing at his softer, sweeter skin.
what's the — mmh — you've got your girlfriend buck-naked in a tub and you're thinking about the —mm, water?
clark breaks the kiss, breath coming down a little faster. head lolled to the side as you suck deep hickeys to his skin.
m'not…just…wouldn't want you get pruny. and, there's a dry, cooled bed five feet aw —
the water sloshes loudly as you shift, moving your thighs to straddle his lap. his hands, despite his mental reservations, settle on your waist like there has been a magnet drawing him. the sudden movement sending a splash of water over the tile floors.
water makes it a hell lot buzzier though.
briefly, clark yields to your advances, a much bigger palm slides up your back, tangling itself into your wet hair with a delicious tug.
your tits, now all wet and glossy, comes to rest against the plans of his chest, hips tilted to press his stiff cock against his abdomen. he's turned on, that much is evident, but there's still a restraint to his movements, his body tensed in an effort to hold back.
y'know…i heard that pussy feels reaaaaaal different when you fuck er' in water.
the crude, teasing words fill the space between you two , breaking past the air of hesitance clark had built up. a genuine, with laughter cutting through it.
…you're insane.
there's no bite to his words anyway, and he doesn't protest when your arms curl around the expanse of his shoulders. his focus entirely on what was beneath — hand having wandered beneath, rubbing and spreading your folds apart in the water. soft, breathy moans press warm against his skin as his digits stretch your walls to get you ready for his cock.
mmn. gonna shut up and fuck me for real now?
he only shakes his head with a groan as he aligns himself by your entrance, breathing slow and deep as he pushes, jaw clenched with the resistance the water introduces.
ah — fuck. don't know how i manage to let you talk me into these things.
you'd have entertained his complaints, if the stretch of his cock hadn't presently been making your mind go absolutely dumb, you're left to his mercy when he hikes you firmer onto him, subjecting your pussy to the sudden stretch of his thick cock.
and for someone who'd been entirely apprehensive? clark had been far too into the sensation of fucking you with the resistance of water — with you at present, overheated, slumped and boneless against him.
They call me Johnny Six-Bowls. No, I don't smoke weed, it's - yeah, I know. It's cause when I cook I need a buncha those little bowls to put my stuff in. You know, cut up veggies and stuff. What's the word. Mise en place. Yeah. So I gotta have a bunch of em with stuff all prepped before I start. Elsewise it's all chaos. Anyway. You here to duel? Or should I give you head
Tim drake but instead of loosing his spleen he lost part of his leg.
Tim thought it was obvious he was missing his right leg from the knee down. It was a whole leg that was missing after all. Sure he was wearing a prosthetic made by Ra's' best people.
One he painfully earned after that crazy fucker made him fight a bunch of his assassins one legged in order to "proof himself as the true heir of the bat he saw in him" or something. So sure, the leg might be more advanced than most, and it imitated natural steps a lot easier and even made it possible to easily run without switching to a different leg. Truly it was a perfect leg be vigilante with. But he never even bothered to give it human like appearances.
But apparently the Fam didn't notice. When he returned with Bruce everyone was too reliefed to give Tim a closer look and it just never came up afterwards.
Tim thought they just didn't want to ask about it in a weird attempt of being polite or even caring. Bruce surely did enough research on how it happened on his own. The man spend the whole travel back to Gotham with Tim after all. Tim truly believed the world's greatest detective would have noticed his missing leg.
Except he didn't. Not if he interpreted the way they looked so incredibly disturbed by is nonchalant way of handlinh the boiling hot chemicals that landed on his metal leg. He just brushed it off, the battle continued and since nothing seemed to be injured no one pressed him when he said "Must've missed me after all"
Now, how do you deal with a family that didn't notice you're missing a leg? That's right you fuck with them.
First thing he did was buy himself a few more realistic looking prosthetic leg. It had to be custom made to fit his stump so it took a whole but it was a worthwhile investment.
The first one was Jason. Call it a twisted revenge for trying to kill him but Tim just really wanted him to be messed with the most. So one day when he knew it was only Jason and him on patrol he strategically set himself down to fall. Crunching some spaghettis to ass in a sickening way only to stand up and walk away as if nothing ever happened.... With his foot toned the wrong way around. Insisting on nothing being wrong and Jason being delusional whenever the older boy tried to get him to get medical treatment. He switched it up the whole evening, whenever he was out of sight he turned the fool right and wrong. Driving the guy insane.
Jason did not sleep well that night. He was also top weirded out and unsure if what he saw was real to talk about it with anyone else.
Then, he challenged dick to a flexibility contest seeing how far they han bend their knees and feet. Even Mr bones are a social construct gymnast Richard Grayson looked horrified as Tim stood there, food bend almost in half, knee twisted to the impossible and what looked lihe a bend in the middle of his leg. Dick claimed cheating except the thing that greeted him when he demanded Tim to puch up his pant leg to expose his trick was a normal looking leg. The first Robin did lots of stretches in the following weeks. His pride was hurt after all.
Finding a way to mess with Damian was a bit more difficult. The brat still made a bunch of harsh comments again and again and he really wasn't close enough with Tim to be easily gaslit. The kid was a trained assassin and was probably used to a bunch of weird shit considering everything Ra's. So Tim decided he could go a bit more gory on Robin than the others. So one night he sat in front of Damians room, in the dark hallway and waited till one of his pets passed him. Once Alfred the Cat came along he made some louder coping noise that would Definetly make the kid look out to check on his animals. It worked just as planned, Damian peeked out his door to see Tim, crosslegged and barefoot on the floor, seemingly cutting off his toe to feed the cat. In reality it was nothing more than a cat treat and carefully picked, animal safe food coloring.
The kid scremed at him, threatened to stab him, punched him real good for harming his cat and took off with said cat to find Alfred so the older man could check on the poor kitten. Of course not beforeaking sure Tim was in an adequate amount of pain on the floor, with his 'injured' food secured to the floor with another knife. Only to return with a worried Alfred on tow to see Tim, standing two whole bare feet with a confused expression and a bag of cat treats in the hall.
Tim got a broken nose for it but it surely was worth it. Especially once he quietly whispered a 'no one will ever belief you' to the kid in passing. He might have traumatised the boy a little but Tim fought it justified for all the attempted murder he suffered.
Tim gets so used to making up cover stories under pressure that it becomes his first instinct when questioned about anything that stresses him out, completely autopilot.
—
Tim sighed. “Well, I guess I'll start from the beginning: my name is Alvin Draper, I lived in the Narrows with my grandma — until I was ten, that is. A rogue attack went wrong, and she was killed in the crossfire; it hadn't even been intentional, just collateral damage, couldn't pin a revenge scheme onto it if you'd tried, and trust me, I did.” He spat, bitterly.
“Placing the blame on Batman for not coming to rescue her hadn’t felt right, and seeking revenge against Two Face made me feel wrong. The blame game was cut short however, because I was soon starving. Long story short, I decided it'd lessen the internal turmoil if I robbed the. . . more fortunate, up in Bristol, leading me to Drake manor.” He let out a breath.
“Arguably lucky for little Alvin Draper: the young Drake heir, tiny eight year old Timmy, had succumbed to illness and passed away during the very same week. Jack and Janet hadn't been concerned about more than the question of who'll pass on their legacy and family standing within the public eye. Their eyes landed on the black haired, blue eyed intruder, sharing a similar build and height to their late son, and decided the job was —
“Replacement, I asked why my spicy marinara sauce was missing.” Interrupted Jason abruptly, after the two minute mark had passed, looking somewhere between incredulous, confused, and done-with-this-shit.
Tim blinked for a second, as though remembering where he was. “Oh, sorry, reflexes.”
