An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson
Additional Tags: Nipple Clamps, Shameless Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Top Dick Grayson, Bottom Jason Todd, Dom/sub, Possessive Dick Grayson, Dom Dick Grayson, Sexual Overstimulation, Aftercare, Pet Names, Nipple Licking, Kinktober, Kinktober 2025
Summary:
"Can't—" Jason gasped, voice breaking on the single syllable.
"Red or green?" Dick's voice was rough against his ear.
Jason's head fell forward until their foreheads met, sweat mingling. "Green," he breathed. "God, green."
well birders, i figured we would have to have this conversation at some point... i AM ready to come back! (things are finally calming down in my life) BUT i'm realizing that the level of detail i was drawing birds at was not conducive to running a DAILY account. so unfortunately i have to ask you guys........... if i lowered the level of detail and started drawing more like i normally do, is that cool with you guys? i don't want to kill the love of this account by suddenly changing stuff, but i wanna know what you guys think! i've included a little mockup of the red-breasted nuthatch as an example :0)
WHO: Divya Koshal
WHERE: Small town west of London
WHEN: Late night, a month ago
There was a bite to the air, bringing both an ache and a soothing balm to the record of suffering stamped across Divya’s body. She focused on it, the sharp pinch in her spine, pulling herself slowly upwards onto her toes, and then lowering herself just as slowly. She clutched the railing before her, wrapped around a front porch and made of smooth iron. The metal had absorbed the frost in the air, and the coldness of it attracts attention as Divya shifted her hands along the rail to feel the coldest parts.
“You’re going back, aren’t you.”
It wasn’t a question. Divya did not shift her gaze from the ramshackle little house across the way as she responded anyway. “And what, help you get reintegrated into society? Fuck that. I only drove you out to this dump ‘cause mum didn’t want to come to Bronzefield and get you herself.”
Fatima’s release came with complications: her practice wasn’t going to hire her back, so it’d be an end to veterinary nursing for her, at least until she found someone willing to take the risk. That meant no way for the brat to funnel money to their mother, to let her keep on deluding herself that London could be afforded on whatever income she had from her pension – and considering Divya was fairly sure it was a truth universally acknowledged that only worse crooks than her went into government, she was sure that would be a pittance. So Divya had been reluctantly bullied into volunteering her shitty old Corolla, except Fatima had missed her license renewal of fucking course, and she was stuck playing chauffeur. Worse, she was stuck out here for more than one day, listening to her surviving relatives moan about their problems.
At least, she thought bitterly, Mohasha had the decency to move only a couple hours away. She could get back to London by sunrise, could miss the worst of the traffic on the bloody M25 if she was lucky for once. She could lose the fucking number, burn the phone and the contacts list and go back to pretending she’d never had a family to speak of.
Speaking of the thing. Ding. She glanced down, eyes to the screen:
- Dieter’s fckn good as dead
- Broken spine
- Eventful wake
“Ugh,” Divya groaned, and knocked the damn thing off the railing, precariously balanced already. It hit the ground at her side, and her thoughts drifted away from reasonableness to bitterness. Another fucking funeral. Another commitment missed.
“What’ve you got to be crabby about?” came her sisters voice. For a brief moment, Divya entertained the mental image of Fatima begging her to stop, of her hands around her throat, of her skin marked black and blue. A glance at the younger Koshal killed the dream: she was too thin, having been too proud to ask for extra food when required in Bronzefield. Even in the thick shawl she’d draped over her jumper, she was too cold out here, her arms wrapped protectively around herself.
But just because she couldn’t quite bring herself to raise bruises on that skin, didn’t mean she wasn’t willing to go for a cut. Fatima had always, all their lives, been prone to ill advised crushes, and relationships that had Divya threatening murder and scaring off old men and young men alike. “I’m missing Jai’s funeral ‘cause you couldn’t keep your fucking hands to yourself three years ago – or at least figure out how to plead anything other than guilty.”
Dieter was a fucking moron, for all the mention of a broken spine hit a little close to home. He deserved what he was getting, especially for letting Jai get got (a bodyguard shouldn’t outlive their charge, and he should be punished, and a lieutenant shouldn’t get to live when they lose an entire fucking district, but god forbid she look a gift horse in the mouth), and Fatima deserved the discomfort, the way the colour leached from her face and her shoulders stiffened.
“Jai’s dead?”
“That’s generally why people have funerals.”
“What the hell, Divya? Does his mum know?”
Fatima got the look she deserved for that comment, Divya thought, putting an end to her slow, easy physiotherapy and releasing the railing at last. She spun on a foot, steps still slightly too heavy, and got in Fatima’s face. It wasn’t difficult, considering how close they were in height, with Divya taller. “I’m going back to London, since I actually have my shit together to afford living somewhere worthwhile. Don’t bother calling.” She kicked the phone as she passed it; reclaimed it from the cold, filthy floor. “Have fun playing nursemaid to mum. I can’t wait until she starts on you for being anything other than the perfect daughter.”
It took less than a minute to shout a goodbye to Mohasha, starting the woman from her nap and earning a scowl for her trouble. Divya opted not to care, choosing instead to grab her bag and get out.
She figured she’d be better off figuring out what she’d missed in London than dealing with the problems of her family.
so i have been at a writing camp for the past week (and it was amazing!!) but i have been super inactive so i’m gonna get around to checking my messages and whatnot soon and maybe even post a new plot bunny… ;D
