THE world knew Katsuki Bakugo as DynaMight, one of the top Pro Heroes, feared by villains and admired by civilians alike. His explosions shook battlefields, his name carried weight, and his pride pushed him higher every single year.

But at home?

At home, Bakugo was pacing the hallway like a bomb about to go off.

“Oi, you’re supposed to have your feet up!” he barked, storming into the living room where you were quietly flipping through a baby book on the couch. “Didn’t the damn doctor say no strain? That means no bending, no lifting, no—”

“No breathing without your permission?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

His crimson eyes narrowed, but instead of snapping back, he stalked over and carefully—carefully—lifted your legs onto the cushion. He fussed with the blanket, making sure it covered you just right, before crouching down beside you.

“You think this is funny? Hah?” he growled, though his hands lingered on your ankle, thumb brushing small circles against your skin without him realising it. “You’re carrying my kid. I ain’t lettin’ anything happen to either of you.”

The weight of his words settled between you. For a man who had once sworn he didn’t need anyone, Bakugo had become a husband who couldn’t imagine a world without you—and now, a father-to-be who carried the weight of two lives on his shoulders.

Sometimes it showed in the quiet ways. How he double-checked the locks at night. How he researched the safest baby strollers at three in the morning. How he glared down anyone who so much as bumped into you on the street.

Other times, it exploded out of him. Like when you casually mentioned you might walk to the corner store for snacks.

“Like hell you’re walkin’ alone!” he shouted, grabbing his jacket. “I’m not lettin’ my pregnant wife wander around while I sit here doin’ nothing. What if some idiot trips into you? What if—”

“Katsuki,” you cut him off, fighting a laugh. “It’s two blocks.”

“I don’t care if it’s two feet! I’m goin’ with you.”

Underneath all the bluster, though, was a man terrified of losing the two people who had become his entire world. He didn’t know how to put that into words without sounding weak, so he protected you the only way he knew how—with everything he had, every second of every day.

And when he finally let himself rest, it was usually with his head pressed against your growing belly, muttering promises that no villain, no danger, not even fate itself, would ever touch you or your child.

“Dynamight might belong to the world,” he whispered once, half-asleep, voice raw. “But you two? You’re mine. Always.”