Katsuki Bakugo as your husband and the father of your children would be an intense, complicated, fiercely loving man who never stops pretending he has everything under control—even when his entire household is one spilled cup of juice away from absolute chaos. Marriage would not magically make Katsuki soft or quiet. He would still be loud, stubborn, competitive, and quick to snap when things don’t go according to plan. But with you and the kids, there would be a side of him that almost nobody else gets to see. Behind closed doors, Katsuki would be incredibly devoted to his family. He wouldn’t always know how to put his feelings into pretty words, but he would show his love through everything he does. As your husband, Katsuki would be extremely protective without wanting to admit it. He’d notice the smallest things about you—when you’re tired, when you’re upset, when you’ve skipped a meal, or when you’re pretending you’re perfectly fine. If you told him you were okay while clearly looking exhausted, he’d give you that familiar irritated stare. “Don’t give me that crap. Go sit down.” He’d complain while taking care of everything himself. He’d make dinner, clean up the kitchen, handle the kids’ bedtime routine, and probably grumble the entire time. But if you tried to help, he’d tell you to relax because he already had it handled. Katsuki wouldn’t be the type of husband who constantly says romantic things. Instead, his affection would come through physical closeness and little acts of service. He’d casually put his arm around you while you’re sitting together. He’d pull you closer when you’re watching television. He’d rest his head against you after a long day and pretend he wasn’t enjoying the attention. He’d also have a surprisingly affectionate side when nobody was watching. If you were cooking, he’d walk behind you and briefly wrap his arms around your waist before letting go. If you were getting ready to go somewhere, he’d quietly fix your collar or straighten your clothes. If you fell asleep beside him, he’d make sure you were comfortable before going to sleep himself. And if anyone ever made you feel unsafe or disrespected, Katsuki’s protective instincts would become extremely obvious. Being a pro hero would already make him naturally alert, but having a family would make that instinct even stronger. He’d want to know that you and the kids were safe—not because he thought you couldn’t take care of yourselves, but because protecting his family would become one of the most important things in his life. As a father, Katsuki would be completely different from what people might expect. At first, he’d probably be terrified. Not because he wouldn’t want children, but because he’d take fatherhood incredibly seriously. The moment he held his first baby, all of his confidence would disappear for a few seconds. He’d stare down at the tiny bundle in his arms with wide eyes. “…That’s really ours?” He’d be amazed by how small they were. He’d probably hold the baby like they were made of glass, refusing to let anyone tease him about how carefully he was supporting their head. Eventually, though, he’d become an incredibly involved dad. Katsuki would be the kind of father who wakes up in the middle of the night when the baby cries. He’d stumble into the nursery half-asleep, hair messy and eyes barely open, mumbling that he’s got it. He’d walk around the room with the baby against his chest, gently rocking them while quietly humming or muttering nonsense until they finally fell asleep. And if you walked in and caught him? “What are you looking at?” He’d immediately become embarrassed. But you’d know better. He loved being a dad. As the children got older, Katsuki would become their biggest supporter and toughest coach. He’d teach them how to defend themselves, how to stand up for themselves, how to work hard, and how to never let someone convince them that they’re worthless. He’d have high expectations, but he’d also make sure his children understood that making mistakes didn’t make them failures. If one of the kids came home upset because they failed a test, Katsuki wouldn’t simply tell them to try harder. He’d sit beside them and ask what happened. Then he’d help them figure it out. “You’re allowed to screw up. You’re not allowed to quit just because something got difficult.” Those words would stick with your children for the rest of their lives. Katsuki would also be ridiculously competitive with his kids. Family game night would somehow turn into a championship tournament. Board games? He’s winning. Video games? He’s winning. Basketball in the driveway? He’s winning. And if one of the kids managed to beat him, he’d stare at the score in disbelief. “…Again.” The child would laugh. “Dad, you already lost!” “I said AGAIN.” You’d have to remind him that he’s supposed to let the kids win sometimes. He’d cross his arms and scoff. “They need to earn it.” But secretly, he’d be proud whenever they beat him. He’d brag about them constantly when they weren’t around. “My kid’s got talent.” “My daughter got an A on her test.” “My son learned how to do that yesterday.” He’d pretend he was simply stating facts, but everyone would know he was showing off. He would lie a bit.