jason todd x reader - boobies and entrails, entrails and boobies. 1.3k
(warnings: afab!reader who has bio baby and is called "mama," mentions of giving birth and post-birth body, nipple worship, kinky and weird SORRY i went insane, one instance of gore, jason is pretty teasing and suave, but so are you. mature themes, be warned.)
Jason and his staring problemâ
At you, mostly (he gets it from the whole âbeing a vigilanteâ thing, he says when you point it out. It has to run deeper than that, thoughâbecause itâs not just tactical scans and daggers you catch him shooting, but the most heinous pair of bedroom eyes, as well, even in the most public of places), but also⌠at every single thing around you, too. Not a single trip out of the house goes by without him inspecting the scenery, the bus, the people around you both with those searing blue eyes. If he were anything like Superman, your whole neighbor and everyone in it wouldâve been burnt to a crisp before you even managed to move in.
But also, Jason and his staring problem now that youâre lactating, as if heâs always desperately waiting for the moment your shirt comes off for whatever reason, to feed the kid or you to change your clothes.Â
(He knows itâs perverted, but itâs tender in a way, too, and thereâs nothing he likes more than being tender with you, having you in ways no other person can.)Â Â
In fact, the cosmic energy of his ogling problem is probably the reason that youâre leaking through your shirt right now, breasts stiff and heavy from waiting for your baby to wake up from their snooze to be fed, and from the intensity of your lover, just watching, just waitingâ
(He claims that itâs simply because heâd hate for anything to happen to either of you in such a vulnerable moment, that he canât stand the thought of any kind of disturbance during babyâs feeds, even if itâs just the doorbell, the fridgeâs automatic ice machine, or the sound of sirens outside.)
But just like their father on the nights he isnât tossing and turning and sweating, your baby is a heavy sleeper, doesnât exactly snore (yet) but you can always hear their little puffs of their breath through the monitor at night. Itâs⌠cute (just like Jason is, when heâs able to fully relax).Â
Youâre only just coming out of the nursery when you catch sight of the stains in the hallway mirrorâright where your nipples sit, over the large Wayne Enterprises logo of your shirtâcussing because now youâve gotta change clothes and you're unsure if your raw nipples can take the friction of another bra and t-shirt sliding over your chest.Â
Jason hasnât exactly hid the nipple cream, but he keeps it on his side of the bed so that he can do the honors of applying it for you, which would be weird, butâŚyouâve seen his entrails on multiple occasions, plus you birthed his baby and the entire time, he had his head between your legs to watch. That aside, however, he actually knows what the hell heâs doing, cupping and kneading your chest before bed each night, one last round of filling up your pump for his shift to feed the baby before licking up the rest himself. Then, heâs slathering you in lotion, fully assured that youâre empty and content enough to sleep until itâs your turn for the baby.
(Youâve found that youâve come to love his calloused and rough hands even more than you did previously: the ridges and notches of skin scratching every itch, feeding every urge, and serving to answer to your every need, grounding you in ways you often donât always notice, but instead, always feel.)Â
But then the man himself is appearing in the threshold, acting smug and surprised to see you as though he wasnât already on his way to pester you in the nursery, where heâd likely pull you from your fussing with folding and refolding the baby clothes so you could sit on his lap in the roomâs armchair and eventually fall asleep with your face in his neck.Â
And heâs walking up and pressing his belly to yours, your sore tits nudging against where he is most firm and they are swollen, causing you to inhale sharply, huff just a little out of surpriseâ
Before you realize Jasonâs cornered you on purpose.
(You canât escape those eyes, not even for a second, always catching the smallest of things; the dribble of spit about to land on your shoulder when youâre burping the baby, the air bubbles that havenât quite yet settled in a freshly made baba, the single loose thread about to unravel their little crocheted hat.)
One side of his lips tilt up, and you glareânot annoyed so much as unimpressed by his scheme. Youâd much rather his initial plan, or the one that ends ups up with you in your own bedroom, taking advantage of the next 45 minutes without a baby in either of your arms, than be out here, cranky from the chill of your milk cooling on your shirt, leaving wet marks your husband will both enjoy and tease you relentlessly for (both verbally and physically).Â
âWhat?â you mutter, trying not to shirk away from his prying gaze, unpacking you the way heâs always been able to (even now that the two of you have softened in ways only parenthood can allow for), with caution and vigilance lingering in every small movement. Â
âNothinâ,â he smiles, leaning in to press his nose to yours, hands wrapping around your hips to cup your ass and pull your hips to his. You can feel the outline of something in his pantsânot yet fully tented, but still chubbing with heat, and you barely brush against it when you move to curl your fingers in his belt.Â
âYouâre lying.âÂ
(Jason seems to like this domestic life he has with you, a little more than he cares to admitâout loud, at least.)Â
âJust wanted a kiss, maybe,â he feigns innocence, teeth visible through his sly grin. âânot gonna make me ask for one, are you?â
You exhale sharply, and though you raise an eyebrow, you also lift your chin, welcoming the way his mouth settles heavy on yours, curving against your lips, pressing them open wetly until your eyes are closing and youâre leaning into his frame where his arms are waiting to pull you as close as possible.
Jason pulls back, but doesnât quite recede from you; his eyes dark and pretty eyelashes heavy in the low, evening light of the hallwayâŚso you wait (letting him give you more delicate pecks on the mouth, cheeks, eyelids, in between each of his breaths) and wait and wait, til his hands finally start to creep, up from your hips, where his thumbs tickle your belly, still soft and wrinkled from your labor, to your waist where they begin pushing up your shirt. He fingers the low edge of your nursing bra, tickling the soft underside of your boobs as he begins to move the band upward.Â
âToddâŚâ you warn, fidgeting in his hold as his form, his hands, his eyes overtake you, slowly stretching the elastic up and over, until it has crumpled the fabric of your t-shirt against your collarbones and your tits are free.   Â
Still, his eyes only crinkle at the sides, as they have started to do more and more the longer youâve been together.
âYouâre leaking, mama,â he whispers, moving his hands from your bra to where youâre now exposed, heated flesh going chilly from exposure, warming where he cupsÂ
âAnd?â
He smirks, ââjust wanna help, is all.â
One of his fingers glides down your nipple gently, and milk starts to bead when he presses (not hard enough to bruise, but enough to have you keening, your at least for a second, til his hand is swiping your skin and heâs sucking the fatty drippings into his mouth and sucking. Hard.Â
âYeah?â you breathe, staring into his eyes, watching just the same. âThen why donât you go and get my pump?â
(He does, obediently, not before turning back to give you those eyes one more time, as if to say, later, soon as baby is fedâ
And boy, does he make good on the wordless promise: Jason has you howling on his thigh later even with a mouth full of milk.)
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