Sometimes you just have one of those moments where the progress we've made as a culture get thrown into stark relief. You look at something and go "Holy shit, that would never have happened when I was a kid."
Today, I had one of those moments when I realized that the teenage boys I'm working with are just. genuinely, openly enthusiastic about going to Build-a-Bear for their outing.
These are sixteen and seventeen year old boys! They just had a whole conversation about what to name their "cute", mostly new squishmallows! They're genuinely excited that they're going to Build-a-Bear this weekend and asking other kids to pick up specific accessories for them!!
Holy shit, that never would've happened when I was 16. None of the boys would have dared to be visibly interested - and neither would most of the girls! There would have been a million gay jokes and "Haha, you're a girl" jokes and "What are you, a baby?" jokes. Teenagers weren't even supposed to care about anything back then!
Less than 15 years later, and I'm watching three 17 year old boys treat all that as not even worthy of comment.
So let's call that a reason for hope. Even when the kids aren't alright, in some ways apparently they are alright. Go Gen Z, honestly. It's so lovely to watch you guys just openly doing and saying stuff that, when I was a teen, would've been a social death sentence.
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friends with benefits with nanami wouldn’t work because he would think you deserve better. you think your arrangement is going well, kento has never complained before, and you’re certainly more than satisfied in bed. he’s handsome, strong, kind, generous with aftercare, and really fucking good with his mouth, so there are no complaints on your end. which is why it’s such a surprise to you when kento confesses that he doesn’t like the way he’s been treating you, and no matter how much you insist that it’s fine, and reassure him that he treats you more than well enough, he refuses.
“but kento, i’m okay with this,” you attempt to convince him that hooking up is enough—he doesn’t need to feel like he has to do more for you, “you’re good to me, and not just in bed. please don’t feel like you owe me more.”
“you deserve something proper,” he’s adamant, shaking his head, “you deserve more than convenient sex.”
“but what if this is all i want?” you can’t help but to tease him. he looks awfully cute with his arms crossed, respectful refusal written all over his face, “i think eating me out on a weekly basis is quite enough, it would just be greedy for me to ask for more, don’t you think?”
your jokes don’t amuse him, but his expression keeps you giggling. still, nanami sighs, and grumbles, “you should want more. it’s not greedy.”
“kento, if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you’re telling me to raise my standards.”
he blinks, cheeks pink with irritation and eyes hollow with tiredness. you push every single one of his buttons and he doesn’t know why, but he would never stop you. maybe that’s where this impeding guilt is coming from—kento likes you, and he doesn’t enjoy feeling like he’s using you, even if you get to use him in return. he doesn’t want your relationship to be transactional, and he doesn’t like that you think such a relationship is okay.
because, guilt aside, kento knows he wants more of you; he wants all of you. and even if you don’t want him back, he thinks you should know that you’re worth having all of, and nothing less.
“maybe i am,” he settles, “you are worth more than an occasional hookup. you should be treated better than this, and i am sorry that i have let it go on for this long.”
“this is ridiculous—you’re nothing but good to me! and i like having sex with you. if you don’t want to have sex with me anymore, that’s fine, but—”
“i didn’t say that,” he interrupts.
“so… you do wanna keep sleeping with me?”
“yes. but we should go on a date before we continue.”
“but what if our date is terrible. do we still get to have post-first date sex?”
he shakes his head, stepping closer to you and holding your forearms before leaning down to kiss your forehead, “i don’t put out on the first date.”
you scoff, taking a half-step closer, snaking your arms around his torso, and grinning up at him, “what a prude.”
at that he smiles, before bending his neck to indulge you in one last kiss. “i’ll pick you up at seven.”
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I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt
“Woah. You look like shit."
Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.
The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.
"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."
And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.
The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.
If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.
"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.
"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.
"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.
The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.
He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."
There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.
"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."
Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"
"Daniel? Is that you?"
His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.
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"Can you just pretend to love me tonight? Please?"
Simon's never gotten a request like this before.
He's never had any qualms about selling his body. Whether it was for his cock, units of his blood plasma, or his war honed body. He's always done what he's had to - anything to stay off the streets and keep a full belly.
The girls who've paid him always wanted a brute, someone to mount them and take them for all they were worth. That was what he was used to, not some doe-eyed sweet thing begging him to be gentle.
"I want to feel loved." You admit, leaning back on the motel bed, thighs crossed in nervousness. "I um...I know I'm not very pretty-"
Simon leans forward on his knees and kisses you gently. Well, he tries to. The tip of your teeth graze painfully together as he mouths you. You squeak beneath him, hands going up to his shoulders to try and push him off on rabbit instinct. He pulls his mouth off of you just enough to mutter an apology.
"Sorry." He swallows.
You look up at him with impeccably beautiful eyes brimming with tears. You seem to finally understand there's nothing gentle about him even when he tries to be. Simon wants you to call him off, send him out of the cheap hotel. He knows he can't be as sweet at you want - as you deserve. He's just physically not built for that. At least, he's sure of it nowadays. He has a brief memory of holding his newborn nephew but it slips away just as quickly as it came.
"Can we just...go slow?" You ask again. Simon can hear the waver in your voice. You're unsure if you want to continue, but you seem to trust him for some reason. "Really, really slow?"
"Yeah."
He can do slow. He can do glacial. If there's one thing he can do, it's be measured, methodical. He wasn't a Lieutenant for nothing.
For the first time in years, he takes his time. He's used to the fast paced, hungry fucks that pay his rent in thirty minutes. This is...new, not wholly uninvited. He kisses down your collarbone, down the swell of your breasts. He nips at the lacy fabric (you dressed up for him when he was expecting just to rip it all off) as he makes his way down further. He laps at the skin beneath your belly button, making your belly flutter. Ticklish. He likes that.
Simon noses his way between your thighs, easily spreads your legs with his thick forearms. As he kisses down your cloth covered mound he admits he likes how you smell. Usually the taste of women turns him off. He prefers men, but desperate women pay more. You're desperate alright, although its a different type of desperation. Something about the nervous wetness staining your new panties has his cock jumping in his trousers. He presses his nose to the fabric, inhales deeply, and relishes in your shy squeak. Simon starts to understand your desire.
You want to be explored, mapped, and consumed slowly. You want to give up control but feel as if you can stop at any moment. You want to be seen, tasted, then completely devoured.
Instead of slipping your panties to the side, he licks his way down your thighs. You squeal and try to squirm away from the sudden sensation but he doesn't stop. He kisses down your calves and across the top of your feet. His hands are so large that they wrap around your soles completely. Simon pushes them up until they're up by your ears. He knows the position is uncomfortable for you, but he likes the view of your soft, cloth covered mound.
He nips at the back of your ankles and calves, licks down the expanse of your thighs, ans nuzzles into the gusset of your panties. Simon relishes in the squeaks and gasps ans twitches of your expectant body. It's been so long since he's teased someone, much less a sweet lil' thing like you.
Your scent is heady, comforting, nothing like he's experienced before. He finds he really likes just inhaling you in. You whimper, thighs shaking already. He hasn't even licked you yet. Simon finally admits to himself that you're stroking his ego.
He plants a firm, sweet kiss to your cloth covered cunt. The fabric is practically soaked through. He can smell your taste on the tips of his lips. His curiosity wins. He takes a firm, long lick from bottom to top. Simon tastes you, but also the flowery tang of your favorite fabric softener. You taste good. He wants more.
Simon finally releases his hold on your thighs. On instinct, or perhaps strain, they fall apart. You try to sit up but he tugs your body further towards the edge of the bed. He can feel the tension in his old knees from kneeling, but he ignores it. You've opened up your body to him. He wants to take full advantage of it.
Simon goes back to lapping at your clothed cunt. He doesn't stop until his tongue is raw from brushing repeatedly over the stitches. Drool drips down his chin.
"Off."
You huff in confusion, trying to sit up. Instead. With too easy of a tug, off come your panties. There you are. Simon knows he should slow his movements but he doesn't care. You haven't stopped him yet, and he'll be damned if he doesn't get those sweet lips in his mouth. He spreads you apart with his middle and forefinger. You're a sight to behold. Perhaps not pornstar perfect anatomy, but you're delicious looking nonetheless. He eyes your glistening, dripping slit. As bad as he wants to force his tomgue deep inside you, instead he presses a firm kiss to the hood of your clit. You jolt, trying to back away or pull him closer, he can't tell.
Simon follows your movement. He mouths hungrily at your clit, flattens his tongue and practically drools against it. He laps at you with a muted fervor. He doesn't want to hurt you. He can tell you're sensitive. It must've been awhile since the last time you'd had a man willingly do this for you. A damn shame.
Your shaky little moans are like music to Simon's ears. He follows them like a map. He circles your clit, traces the entrance of your hood, even dips lower to tease the sides of your inner lips. You seem to like that alot based on the sounds you make. He sucks on your inner wings and you squeal, thighs wrapping hard around the sides of his head. He does it again and and again until you're hiccuping in delight. Your slick drips down his chin and throat. You're such a good girl for him.
Simon knows he's going to make you cum, it's just a matter of time and technique. He has both on his side. He uses his other hand to pet at your entrance. He tries to commit your anatomy to memory, and so he takes his time dipping the pads of his fingers against your fluttering slit. Despite it obviously having been awhile, your cunt holds no resistance. In fact, it practically swallows up the tip of his middle finger. Fuck yeah, that's what he likes to see.
With measured ease, Simon slips his whole finger inwards and upwards inside of you. You keen and gasp and he can feel your insides twitching. You're tight. So tight he can feel his finger already starting to cramp up from the resistance.
If he's going to fuck you right he's still got some work to do.
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