#dexdefyingstunts

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We could barely function after reading Dexdefyingstunts' kinktastic fic in the last problematic zine. Luckily he agreed to rejoin us as a guest writer for Not Now, Kitten...

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Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake/Roy Harper, Tim Drake/Damian Wayne, Bart Allen/Tim Drake, Tim Drake/Cassie Sandsmark, Bart Allen/Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent/Cassie Sandsmark Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Roy Harper, Original Female Character(s), Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Damian Wayne, Bart Allen, Cassie Sandsmark Additional Tags: Characters Reading Fanfiction, mentions of Tim Drake/others in the context of said fanfiction, Size Kink, Daddy Kink, Community: dckinkmeme, Crack, Humor, Semi-Public Sex, im tagging pairings of ppl who discover fanfic/other fan content shipping them w tim Summary:

"Can you not see how that might be a bad idea at the moment?" Kara asks. "Not in any way whatsoever?"

"Well I'm not calling Impulse," Kon replies reasonably.

Given that everyone has just realized there's a Bart/Kon tag on this fic, I am *cackling*

(I hope Bart gets to rail Kon eventually, they deserve it 💖)

given that tag has been on the fic since the first chapter, it is VERY funny to me that basically no one mentioned it before, yeah, hahaha. and very, VERY funny that no one mentioned the "not calling Impulse" line sooner, because I'm pretty sure you're the first one I remember mentioning it, haha.

y'all gotta read the tags, gang! that's what the tags are FOR!! 😆

“You know, I’ve really never met anyone as grateful for the opportunity to give me what I want as you, Kon-El,” Superman muses. He still sounds amused, and he crooks his fingers inside him. Kon comes that easy, even after everything else, his greedy and hurting cunt clenching down helplessly around those inexorable fingers and whole body shaking and stuttering with it, and he feels Superman’s smile widen against his temple. 

He also feels like throwing up. 

“Don’t go soft, princess,” Superman instructs like that’s even something Kon can control, and rubs the pads of his fingers along his inner walls again and again and over and over while Kon’s still trying to both recover from the orgasm and process the new endearment without his brain shorting out. His cunt throbs with much more pain than pleasure and his thighs tremble and his vision swims. 

He doesn’t go soft at all. 

“That’s my boy,” Superman hums approvingly, and Kon really almost does throw up. Then Superman slips his fingers back out of his abused and aching cunt and pets it a few more times, his slick and sticky fingers filthy with the mess of it. 

Kon whines, just barely. It’s the only sound he can manage to make, and he can’t move at all. Everything’s too much, and he’s too heavy and exhausted and achy and oversensitive and it’s just too much. Even the inhuman warmth of Superman’s body just inside his personal space makes him feel nauseous and overwhelmed and like he just wants to melt into nothing and never, ever have to do anything again. Never have to feel anything again. 

Superman smiles against his temple again, and offers up his slick and sticky hand with the same obvious certainty that Kon wants what he’s offering as he did after Kon hit his knees for him for the first time. Every inch of Kon’s body is too heavy and weak and burnt out to move. He didn’t feel this weak when he was fucking dying. If he even so much as lifts a finger right now, he is positive he’ll pass right back the fuck out and maybe not wake up until those engines finally start again. 

But not for Superman, he’s just as positive, and somehow manages to open his mouth and lift his head just enough to meet him. Superman pushes his fingers into his mouth and down his throat just as inexorably as he pushed them into his cunt, just the same way he fucked his cunt with them, and Kon doesn’t even choke. 

“Do you want a name that matches mine a little?” she asks her Pocket, peeking over at him. He chirps curiously and peers at her phone again. “Or is that too, like . . . presumptuous?” 

Maybe she should just say something like “Sunny” and be done with it. That’s a cute name, and it’s relevant to him, at least. 

. . . and, uh, possibly a low-key Apollo reference, but never mind that. 

“Good boy,” Superman murmurs approvingly, keeping one hand fisted in Kon’s hair and wiping a thumb through the mess of his mouth with the other. Kon’s gut throbs with heat. 

And nausea. 

“Show me, sweetheart,” Superman says. Kon tips his head back and opens his mouth without trying to swallow any more, and Superman smiles.

He presses the pad of his thumb into the slick puddle of come painting Kon’s tongue and rubs. Kon makes a noise he usually only makes when he's gotten hit, and Superman's smile widens. 

Cassie rubs her fingertip down lower, sliding over his cock and further down between his legs, and he barely resists a very weird urge to just, like–rock down, kind of, or squeeze his thighs around her finger, or . . . or something. She is way too big to ever get a finger inside him, but . . .