Chapter Text
As an omega, you’re told to make yourself small—delicate. Soft. Katsuki Bakugou? He was never any of that. He was strong, loud, and unapologetically himself.
But now? Now he was porcelain. Perfectly polished, poised, and breakable. Every time he looked at himself in the mirror, he barely recognized the person staring back. The sharp edges he’d once been so proud of had been sanded down into something uncomfortably smooth.
His life wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.
And yet, here he was: pregnant, married, and living in the shadow of Shindo yo. The man who seemed to have it all—power, wealth, and an ego that barely fit in a room. The media loved them together, calling them the perfect match. But it felt more like a leash than a partnership, the kind Katsuki used to sneer at.
He hated it.
No one knew how much he hated it, though. They only saw the glossy photos, the staged smiles, and the perfectly crafted image of his "new life." They didn’t know about the constant weight on his chest or the way he felt like a stranger in his own skin. They didn’t know about the child he kept hidden from the public, the one thing he refused to let yo turn into a spectacle.
This wasn’t him.
The fire, the passion—it was all still there, buried deep inside, under layers of expectation and control. But sometimes, when he let himself think about the past, he could feel it burning at the edges, waiting to break free.
He thought about the person he used to be—the one who didn’t care what anyone thought, who lived and breathed for the music. The one who had it all, surrounded by friends who felt more like family.
Once, he’d been untouchable. Now, he wasn’t even sure who he was anymore.
But maybe, just maybe, that fire wasn’t out yet.
_________________________________________
The world didn’t see it coming.
When seven teenagers from Musutafu decided to start a band, no one expected them to leave a mark that would define a generation. It wasn’t just the music. It was the raw energy, the fire, the way their songs didn’t just echo through arenas but burned into the hearts of millions. Half of Us wasn’t just a band; it was a movement—a group of misfits who found each other and created something unstoppable.
At the center of it all was Bakugou Katsuki.
Even at just 17, Katsuki had been impossible to ignore. Everything about him was loud—his voice, his presence, his sheer determination to leave the world shaking in his wake. He wasn’t looking for fame or fortune. He wanted to be heard, to prove that he could burn brighter than anyone else. And for a while, it worked.
But nothing lasts forever. Not even fire.
_____________________________________
The sound of a guitar string snapping broke the silence in the living room, followed by a loud “Goddammit!”
Katsuki threw the broken string onto the floor and glared at it like it had personally insulted him. “Kirishima, if you don’t stop laughing, I swear I’m gonna—”
“Hey, hey, relax, bro!” Kirishima held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin wide and unbothered. “It’s just a string. Not the end of the world.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one stuck restringing this stupid thing for the third time this week,” Katsuki snapped, shoving his chair back as he grabbed a new string.
“Maybe if you weren’t so aggressive with it,” Kaminari chimed in from behind the keyboard, earning a glare from Katsuki that could have set him on fire.
“Would you all shut up?” Jirou groaned, twisting the knobs on her electric guitar. “We’re supposed to be practicing, not bickering like a bunch of toddlers.”
“She’s got a point,” Midoriya said, his deep voice calm as always. He sat cross-legged on the floor, scribbling lyrics into a battered notebook. “We’ve got three weeks until the showcase, and we’re not exactly ready yet.”
Katsuki let out an annoyed huff but didn’t argue.
The showcase was everything. It was their chance to prove they weren’t just another group of wannabe musicians. It was the an big step toward making their mark.
“Whatever,” Katsuki muttered, fixing the string with practiced ease. “Let’s just play the damn song already. I’m not about to let you extras screw this up.”
The others exchanged amused glances but said nothing. That was just Katsuki—blunt, impatient, and completely incapable of admitting how much he cared.
When they finally started playing, the room came alive. The sound wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it was theirs. It was raw, messy, and full of potential. Katsuki’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade, sharp and commanding, with an edge that sent shivers down their spines.
For the first time that day, they all fell into sync.
This was what they were meant to do.
The music swirled around the small room, a chaotic blend of bass, guitars, and keyboards that bounced off the walls with raw intensity. The sound wasn’t clean—not yet—but it had power.
There was energy, electricity. Katsuki’s voice was the spark that ignited it all, a force of nature that demanded attention. He moved across the room, pacing while the others continued playing, his mind already racing through what they could improve.
“Hold on,” he shouted, waving a hand to stop the music mid-sentence. The band fell silent, almost like they’d rehearsed it.
“What?” Kirishima asked, leaning against his guitar, ever the calm one in moments like this.
“We’re off on the chorus. It’s too soft,” Katsuki snapped, running a hand through his spiky hair. “We need more punch. This isn’t some damn lullaby. Get that energy back.”
Kaminari grinned, tapping out a few beats on his keyboard.
“Right, more punch. Got it, boss.”
Katsuki scowled at the teasing, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. He was already moving, pacing again. Midoriya was scribbling down notes in his notebook, probably thinking of ways to rework the lyrics to match the vibe. Jirou was adjusting her guitar, a look of concentration on her face. Mina and Sero were making small adjustments to the beat, their usual rhythm syncing like clockwork.
They’d been doing this for hours, but Katsuki didn’t care. This band was his life. His family. And it had to be perfect.
“Alright, let’s try it again,” he ordered, stepping back to the mic. “Same thing, but punchier. From the top.”
They dove back into it, the music louder this time, sharper. It felt right. The tempo hit harder, the melody seemed to burn brighter. They were getting there, but Katsuki knew it wasn’t enough. Not yet. They had to keep pushing.
_____________________________________
Suddenly, the front door banged open with a force that made them all stop mid-chord.
“Bakugou Katsuki! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
The voice was unmistakable. His mom, the ever-present storm cloud in their lives, was standing in the doorway of the living room. She was dressed in one of her usual high-fashion outfits, clearly not amused by the sound that had been echoing through the house.
“Hag, we’re just—” Katsuki started, but his mom wasn’t having it.
“I don’t care if you’re just making music. This is my living room, not some damn studio! How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t care how ‘talented’ your band is. This is my house!”
The others glanced at each other, already used to this routine. Katsuki stood up straight, crossing his arms over his chest. “Calm down, hag. We’re almost done.”
“Almost done? Almost done?! You’ve been at it for hours!” His mom stormed in, glaring at all of them, but softening when her eyes landed on her son. “You’re ruining the furniture. And if I hear that keyboard one more time, I swear—”
Katsuki’s mom turned to face the others, her gaze softening slightly.
“You guys, too, can you try not to shake the house down next time? My ears are going to explode.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Bakugou,” Kirishima chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, looking sheepish.
“We’ll keep it down.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” she muttered, rolling her eyes before turning back to Katsuki. “And you—stop using my damn living room as your personal practice space. If you want to make noise, do it in your room. I swear, you’re going to drive me mad one of these days.”
Katsuki opened his mouth to argue, but the look on her face said it all. She was having none of it. So, he sighed dramatically and nodded.
“Fine, we’ll take it upstairs.”
“Good,” she snapped. “Now, clean up in here. I’m not raising animals.”
With that, she huffed out of the room, leaving them all in stunned silence.
_____________________________________
After his mom’s exit, the band collectively exhaled. Kirishima was the first to break the silence, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Guess we better pack it up for today, huh?”
Katsuki wasn’t ready to stop. The music still burned inside him, but he knew the routine. “We’ll practice upstairs. You all better be ready.”
“Yeah, we’re ready,” Kaminari piped up, tapping a quick beat on his keyboard as though already imagining the next round.
“Let’s just hope we don’t get interrupted again,” Jirou muttered under her breath, though her tone was light.
Katsuki didn’t answer, his focus already shifting back to the music. “If she interrupts again, I’ll just turn the volume up.”
“Like she’d let you get away with that,” Sero chuckled.
As the band filed out of the living room, Katsuki couldn’t help but smile. Even in the chaos, even with all the interruptions, they were family. And they weren’t going to stop until they made their mark.
_____________________________________
The upstairs room, where they spent hours after school working on their music, was quieter than usual. The band members were in the middle of their practice, but there was a sense of restlessness in the air.
Katsuki was pacing, his usual energy burning in every step. His fingers drummed along to an invisible beat, his mind racing with the song they had been working on for the past few weeks. He was frustrated—something just wasn’t clicking.
“Alright, what’s next?” Kirishima asked, glancing up from his guitar as he adjusted the strings.
“Next is fixing this mess of a song,” Katsuki grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “We’re not stopping until it’s perfect.”
Jirou raised an eyebrow but smiled, crossing her arms. “Same as always.”
Kaminari stretched his arms above his head, his voice a little too casual. “You know, Katsuki, sometimes I think you’re all music and no chill.”
“Shut it, dumbass,” Katsuki growled, shooting him a glare. “We’re here to work, not mess around.”
Just as he was about to get back to practicing, the door to the room opened with a slight creak. Everyone turned their heads, expecting another interruption, but this time it wasn’t the usual random noise from outside. It was Katsuki’s dad.
“Hey Katsuki” Masaru called out, grinning like usual. He was holding a box of pastries in his hands. “Thought I’d bring you guys something to munch on while you’re working so hard.”
The entire band let out a collective sigh of relief. No one could resist Masaru’s generosity and warmth. He was Katsuki’s dad, and while they all adored him, it was clear he had a soft spot for the band.
“Thanks, old man,” Katsuki muttered, giving his dad a brief but affectionate glance. He grabbed a pastry before anyone else could. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Masaru smirked. “Yeah, I know. But I figured you guys could use a little fuel. And don’t think you’re getting away without a thank you.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes but said it anyway,
“Thanks, Dad.”
Masaru gave him a knowing wink before setting the box down on the table, watching as the others dug in. “You all are doing great, you know? I can feel the energy when I listen in on your songs. Keep it up.”
The band exchanged glances, some of them smiling as they took a bite of the pastries. They appreciated Masaru’s quiet support.
“Well, don’t stand there, get a seat and stop bothering us, old man,” Katsuki grumbled, but there was no heat behind the words.
Masaru chuckled and turned to leave. “Alright, alright. Just remember, no one’s perfect—not even you, Kat. Take it easy once in a while.”
Katsuki’s face flushed, but he didn’t argue. “Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, though the playful tone in his voice gave him away.
The moment Masaru was gone, the band settled back into the rhythm of practice. But Katsuki’s mind was still on the song. Something wasn’t right, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something important.
Before he could get lost in his thoughts, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, checking the message.
It was from yo, the owner of the music label that wanted to work with them, that they met last time at old festival they played at.
We need to talk about the song you’ve been working on, Also I wanna talk about a contract, it’s worth it.
Katsuki’s brow furrowed as he read the message. yo was blunt, always had been. But Katsuki couldn’t deny that the man’s advice, while harsh at times, always pushed them to be better. He glanced at his phone for a moment longer before shoving it back into his pocket without a word.
“Yo, Katsuki, you gonna stand there staring at your phone all day?” Kaminari teased, earning a slap on the back of his head from Jirou.
Katsuki didn’t respond right away. His mind was already back on the music. yo’s feedback was coming, and while he wasn’t thrilled by the thought of another critique, he knew it was what they needed. They couldn’t afford to settle for anything less than perfect.
“Alright, let’s focus,” Katsuki finally said, his voice sharp. “We’ll work on this some more. We’ve still got a lot to do, and I’m not stopping until it sounds right.”
The band nodded in unison, their previous distractions forgotten as they settled back into the groove of practice. The pressure of yo’s upcoming feedback loomed over Katsuki’s thoughts, but for now, he could drown it out in the music.
The practice continued for hours, each of them getting lost in the familiar routine of pushing themselves to their limits. There was something magical about the way they all connected when the music took over—like they were a single entity, bound together by their shared love of creation.
But as the evening wore on, a familiar exhaustion set in. Their fingers were sore, their voices hoarse, but the satisfaction of progress kept them moving.
Eventually, as the last notes of their song echoed through the room, Katsuki leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily. The tension had lifted somewhat, but he knew there was more work ahead.
Kaminari was the first to break the silence. “Man, that was intense,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I think we’re almost there.”
“I’m not stopping until it’s perfect,” Katsuki replied, his voice firm. But there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze, something that the others could see but wouldn’t call out.