You and Bakugou had discussed your plans of your future pretty early on in the relationship. You wanted to move in by this time, be engaged at this time, have your wedding, enjoy married life, and then have kids. Only thing now, is to have kids. But the problem?
Bakugou keeps pulling out.
You’re not sure what’s going on, where the hold up is coming from. You went through all the steps of getting off your birth control, prepping your body for what’s to come. The only thing you need is him, and for some reason, he keeps denying the last piece of the puzzle.
You confront him finally, after another night of him wiping down your stomach and inner thighs. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling with a soft frown. Bakugou pecks at your collarbone and squeezes your flank to hear you giggle, but you only shuffle a little away from him. He pauses, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he stares down at your crumpled expression.
“What’s going on?” He hums quietly, brushing a few hairs from your forehead as he throws the washcloth on the ground. He holds your face in both hands, kissing gently at your skin when he sees your bottom lip wobble in frustration.
“Why won’t you cum inside me?” You snap, cringing as the words leave your mouth. You could’ve said them a little more gracefully, but it’s hard finding grace when your life plans have suddenly come to a halt without a word on his part. Bakugou’s eyes bulge in confusion before a soft look passed over his face. He sighs, body slumping on top of you heavily, knocks the breath from your lungs and the tears from the corners of your eyes.
“Didn’t think you’d notice,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, flinching a little when you pinch his side.
“How couldn’t I have noticed? I thought this was our final step to completing the life we wanted together. What happened?” Your voice gets softer with every word until you’re nothing but a whisper in the quietness of the room. Bakugou doesn’t say anything for a long while, just breathes in the scent of you before murmuring quietly,
“I don’t think I’ll be a good dad.” He confesses. You’re not sure if you should stop him and reassure him, but he takes a deep shaky inhaled breath in, and you decide to let him continue.
“I don’t wanna be an absent father to the only brats I’ll ever have. They deserve to have someone be there for them, every step of the way. I don’t think—I don’t think they deserve to have a fucked up person as a father. ‘S not fair.”
You can only lay there and listen, rubbing gently at his back, over his scars and still healing wounds. You run a hand through his hair and blink away tears when you feel his sniffle more than hear it. You both stew in what’s been said for what feels like hours before you speak up.
“How can you say that, when we’ll have the safest kids on the block?” You whisper, pulling his face from your neck so he can look at you, wipe away the stray tears that muddle his ruddy cheeks.
“Knowing you, Katsuki, you’ll be there no matter what. No matter what strings you have to pull, time you have to sacrifice, how many times you’ll have to break your neck—you’ll be there, because you always are. For me, for our friends, your parents, for the shitty civilians that never wanna listen to your instructions.” Bakugou chuckles a little at that, mumbling a quiet, shitty extras, under his breath. You smile at him, leaning forward to kiss his eyelids and eyebrows and forehead and nose and cheeks and lips. When you pull back, he smiles softly, just a quirk of the corner of his mouth and blinks up at you like some big cat.
“You’ll be a great dad, because you’re a great person first and foremost. And our kids will love you unconditionally because you are their dad.” You whisper to him, pressing a final kiss to his lips for the night. With that, you two lay together, discussing possible plans on future endeavors, how you guys will work together when the kids are here, time taken off and how it’ll be spent together.
So, it shouldn’t, but it comes as a surprise months later when Bakugou wakes up one morning to find an empty ceramic mug sitting on the kitchen table. You’re sat beside it, failing to hide a grin behind your own mug you sip at, a new one he hasn’t seen before. He looks at you funny, before picking up the mug, eyes bulging out of his head as he reads what’s on it, and the little capped stick inside.
He doesn’t say anything as he embraces you, pulling you up from your chair and hugging you to him as your giggles fill the atmosphere of the house. The quiet house, that in a few months, won’t be as quiet for much longer.
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