tw: breastfeeding, bad pregnancies n supportive bakugou cries
“what’re you doin’ down here?”
it’s the middle of the night; probably nearer to three in the morning when you catch your husband’s gruff voice before you see him emerge into the kitchen; the sharp edge of his handsomely matured jawline illuminated by the silver moonlight. smiling as he rubs sleep from his ruby encrusted eyes— you hold up a baby bottle mina had gifted you from the baby shower, filled with breast milk as you set a timer up on the warmer.
“your son was hungry again,” you hum, placing the bottle back into the warmer, smiling as warm and familiar arms wrap around your waist and calloused fingers trace the c-section scar. “he wouldn’t latch so i figured we’d try a bottle tonight.”
bakugou makes a noise of disapproval in his throat, squeezing you close to his chest as if to cushion you— protect you. “y’shoulda come ‘n got me, need all the rest you can get feedin’ a hungry tike like that all day,” he rasps into the shell of your ear, swaying your bodies to the quiet tick of the one minute timer on your baby bottle warmer. “we agreed t’split feeding, r’member?”
