Could you make a fanfic about fem reader x bakugo where she gave birth to two twins and she does really like herslef anymore, like she doesent like that her boobs got bigger, her hips, that she has stretch mark etc but katsuki loves them?
Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader
Genre: Angst/Comfort, Romance, Domestic Fluff
Warnings: Postpartum body image issues, stretch marks, self-doubt, vulnerability, but with healing and soft!Bakugo
Setting: A few weeks after giving birth to twins
You stood in front of the bathroom mirror at 2:47 a.m., barefoot, robe loosely tied around your waist, the sound of the baby monitor humming in the bedroom behind you. The twins — your twins — had finally fallen asleep after a hellish hour of feeding, burping, crying, and everything in between.
And now, alone in the low yellow light, you faced yourself.
Your belly, once full and taut with life, was now soft. Deflated. Lined with deep stretch marks that branched across your hips and lower stomach like a tree’s roots. Your breasts were swollen, tender from feeding, constantly leaking no matter what you wore. Your thighs felt thicker, your waist wider. You hadn’t slept more than two hours straight in weeks, and it showed in the bags under your eyes, in your dull skin, in the way you slouched without realizing.
You used to feel pretty. Strong. Wanted.
Now you felt like a ghost in your own skin.
“Katsuki deserves better than this,” you whispered to your reflection. “Better than me.”
You hadn’t told him how much it haunted you. He was always up helping with the twins, changing diapers, rocking them against his chest. He told you you were doing great, that you were beautiful. But it felt like a lie.
Because this body didn’t feel beautiful anymore. It felt used. Stretched. Worn out.
You didn’t even notice the door creak open until his voice broke the silence.
“Why’re you up?” Katsuki’s voice was low, rough from sleep, but laced with concern. “I just got them both down.”
You quickly wiped under your eyes. “Couldn’t sleep. Was just… brushing my teeth.”
He stared at you for a beat.
“You don’t have a toothbrush in your hand.”
Damn it. You looked down at the sink.
“I was just thinking,” you muttered.
Katsuki stepped closer, rubbing a hand through his messy hair, shirtless and in his worn grey sweats. “What’s going on?”
You hesitated, heart racing. It was one thing to break down in the mirror. Another to admit it to him — the man who still kissed you like you were everything. Who touched you like you hadn’t changed at all.
But you weren’t the same.
And it hurt too much to pretend.
“Katsuki…” Your voice cracked. “Do you… still find me attractive?”
His brow furrowed, almost insulted. “The fuck kinda question is that?”
You looked away, arms crossing over your chest — not for warmth, but to hide. “I just… I don’t feel good about how I look. I feel gross. I feel soft. My stretch marks are everywhere. My boobs leak constantly. I haven’t worn makeup in weeks. I can’t even fit into my old clothes. I—” You paused, swallowing hard. “I feel like someone else.”
He didn’t answer right away.
You half expected him to get frustrated — not with you, but because he didn’t always know what to say when you were upset. He was a man of action, not words. But when he spoke, his voice was steady. Soft. Unusually gentle.
Your eyes darted to him. “What?”
“I’m not gonna do anything unless you want me to. I just wanna see you. Not the version in your head. You.”
Your hands trembled slightly as you untied the robe. Slowly. Hesitantly.
You let it fall open, revealing the nursing bra barely containing your swollen breasts, the postpartum belly you hated looking at, the stretch marks that traced your skin like scars of battle.
Katsuki stepped forward. No smirk. No teasing. Just awe.
He reached out, slowly dragging his fingertips down your side, brushing over the ridges of your stretch marks with care.
“Goddamn,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”
Your throat tightened. “You don’t have to say that just because I had your kids.”
“I’m not.” His hands moved to your hips, holding you gently but firmly. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
You looked away, blinking fast. “They’re ugly.”
“They’re proof you did something no one else could,” he said, voice firmer now. “You carried our babies for nine months. You lived through swollen ankles and heartburn and nearly tearing me a new one during labor. And now you’re up every night feeding them, holding them, loving them — and still worrying about me?”
“You think this softness makes you less?” He kissed your shoulder. “It makes you real.”
You bit your lip, trying not to cry.
“I see you, babe,” he whispered. “Every mark. Every scar. Every inch of you. I see you. And you’re still the most stunning thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
You blinked, voice small. “Even with the leaky boobs?”
He smirked — a real one this time. “Especially with the leaky boobs.”
You snorted, and he kissed your smile before it faded.
“Listen to me,” he said against your skin. “You’re not the same. And that’s okay. I didn’t fall in love with some fixed idea of what you’re supposed to look like. I fell for you. And this?” He placed a hand on your stomach. “This is what love leaves behind. These lines, these curves — they’re all part of the story we’re building.”
You finally let yourself cry.
But they weren’t the bitter, helpless tears of earlier. These were soft. Cleansing. Held in strong arms while the weight you’d carried — the doubt, the self-hate — started to melt.
He pulled you into his chest and held you like nothing else mattered. Because to him, it didn’t.
Just you. Just this. Just now.
After a moment, you murmured, “You really don’t miss the old me?”
Katsuki leaned back just enough to look in your eyes.
“I love every version of you,” he said. “But this one? This tired, fierce, soft, milk-stained, stretch-marked, badass mom version?” He kissed your forehead. “She’s my favorite so far.”
You climbed back into bed with him, your robe still open, and for once, you didn’t rush to cover yourself. Katsuki curled behind you, strong arms wrapping around your waist, his hand gently smoothing over your stomach.
The baby monitor crackled with soft breathing from the nursery.
You didn’t sleep right away, but for the first time in weeks, you weren’t afraid of your reflection.
Because you were learning to see yourself the way he did — not ruined.
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