Chapter 1: Whispers and Possession
The vinyl booth sighed under Sophia’s weight as she slid in, the old red material worn soft and sticky in patches. The diner hummed around her—a low-grade symphony of sizzling grease, clattering plates, and the murmur of late-night chatter. She traced a finger through a condensation ring on the checkered tablecloth, her other hand wrapped around the cold belly of a milkshake glass. Triple chocolate. It was the only reason to endure Mina’s relentless energy after midnight.
“So then,” Mina hissed, leaning so far across the table her pink curls nearly dipped into Sophia’s fries. Her black and gold eyes were wide with conspiracy. “I’m telling you, I heard them. My room’s right next to Bakugou’s, the walls are basically cardboard.”
Sophia took a long, slow sip, the sweet cream a comfort against the buzz of the neon Open Late sign flickering above their booth. “Heard what, Mina? Them arguing over who used the last of the explosive sweat gel? Groundbreaking.”
“No, you lump.” Mina’s grin was all sharp edges and excitement. “Them. Bakugou, Kirishima, and Izuku. Last night. It was a… a thing. A threesome thing.”
Sophia choked. Milkshake went down the wrong pipe. She coughed, her dark curls bouncing as she pounded a fist on her chest. “What?”
“I know!” Mina preened, delighted with the reaction. “And from the sounds of it, it wasn’t just some shy, exploratory little mess-around. It was… athletic. And loud. Specifically, Izuku was loud. In, like, a dominant way. Who knew, right? All those ‘Kacchan, Kacchan’s and then suddenly—according to the sound of a headboard hammering the wall—he’s giving the orders.”
A strange, hot curl tightened low in Sophia’s stomach. She tried to shove it down, focusing on peeling the paper off her straw. “That’s… graphic. And none of my business.”
“It’s everyone’s business when Bakugou’s involved, because his business is always a spectacle.” Mina stole a fry, pointed it at Sophia. “But seriously. Izuku? Taking charge? I just never pictured it. He’s so… soft-looking.”
Sophia pictured him. The messy green hair, the constellation of freckles across his cheeks and shoulders, the way his shoulders had filled out over the past year. She thought of the careful, almost reverent way he’d helped her up after she’d tripped in training last week, his hand warm and surprisingly rough against hers. Then she imagined that hand, those work-worn fingers, gripping hard into a hip. A jolt went through her.
“Stop,” she mumbled, her face feeling warm. “It’s rude to speculate.”
“It’s rude not to share the good gossip,” Mina retorted, just as the diner’s bell above the door jangled violently.
A gust of cool night air sliced through the greasy warmth, followed by a presence that seemed to suck the oxygen from the room. Katsuki Bakugou stood in the doorway, his spiky ash-blond hair backlit by the streetlight, his red eyes scanning the room like targeting lasers. They landed on Mina. And then, with a slower, more deliberate drag, on Sophia.
He started toward them, his walk a controlled prowl that made the linoleum floor seem to tilt in his direction. Sophia’s mouth went dry. She saw Izuku then, slipping in behind Bakugou, green hair rumpled, a gentle, apologetic smile already on his face for whatever was about to happen. That smile didn’t reach his eyes, which were fixed on Bakugou’s back with an intensity that made the hot curl in Sophia’s stomach pull tighter.
Bakugou didn’t stop until he was looming over their booth. He planted his palms on their sticky table with a dull thud, making the glasses jump. He leaned down, his scent—burnt sugar and sharp, clean sweat—washing over them.
“The fuck you say about me, Raccoon Eyes?” he growled, his voice low and crackling with promised violence.
Mina, to her credit, didn’t flinch. She leaned back and batted her eyelashes. “Who, me? I was just complimenting your… endurance.”
Before Bakugou could erupt, a hand slid around from behind him. It wasn’t a gentle touch. Izuku’s fingers—strong, scarred, unmistakable—curled firmly into the waistband of Bakugou’s jeans, right at the hip. He didn’t yank, just held. A claim. A restraint. Bakugou’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t shake the grip off.
Izuku’s eyes met Sophia’s over Bakugou’s shoulder. There was no apology in them now. Just a quiet, unsettling focus. “Kacchan,” he said, and the name was a soft command. “We’re here for food. Not a scene.”
“She started it,” Bakugou snarled, but the heat had shifted. It was no longer directed solely at Mina. His gaze flicked back to Sophia, raking over her face, her dark curls, the strap of her baggy hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “What are you staring at, Round Face?”
Sophia’s brain short-circuited. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She was staring. She was staring at Izuku’s hand, the white knuckles where he held Bakugou’s jeans, at the way Bakugou’s neck had flushed a deep pink under the collar of his shirt.
Izuku’s grip tightened fractionally. “Sit,” he said, not to Bakugou, but to Sophia and Mina. It was a suggestion that felt like an order. “We’ll join you.”
Bakugou huffed, a sharp, irritated sound, but he let Izuku steer him into the booth opposite. They slid in, Bakugou on the outside, Izuku pressed against the window. The table was suddenly, intensely small.
The next twenty minutes were a bizarre, tense dream. Bakugou ordered a mountain of spicy curry, shoveling it into his mouth with aggressive focus. Izuku picked at a slice of apple pie, his quiet questions to Mina about classwork feeling like a veneer over something seismic. Sophia kept her eyes on her milkshake glass, tracing the “07” tattooed on her left hand. But she could feel it. The current in the air between the two boys across from her. It was in the way Izuku’s foot rested against Bakugou’s under the table. In the way Bakugou, after a particularly vile insult muttered to Izuku, received a slow, deliberate knee pressed against his thigh—a silent rebuttal that made Bakugou’s ears go red.
Mina, fueled by the dangerous energy, kept talking. “So, Sophia was just saying how interesting it is, dynamics in relationships. How you never really know what happens behind closed doors.”
Izuku looked up from his pie. His green eyes found Sophia’s again. “Is that so?”
“I didn’t—” Sophia started.
“It’s true,” Izuku interrupted softly, setting his fork down. “People make assumptions.” He leaned back, his arm stretching along the back of the booth seat behind Bakugou. His fingers brushed the nape of Bakugou’s neck, just a ghost of a touch. Bakugou stiffened, then forcibly relaxed into it, a shudder running through his shoulders. “Sometimes,” Izuku continued, his voice dropping, “the assumption is that the loudest person in the room is in charge.” He smiled then, a small, private thing. “It’s often wrong.”
Bakugou turned his head, glaring at Izuku. “Shut the fuck up, Deku.”
Izuku’s hand moved from Bakugou’s neck to his chin, gripping it with a sudden, shocking firmness. He turned Bakugou’s face toward him. “Make me.”
The air was sucked out of the booth. Sophia’s heart hammered against her ribs. She watched, frozen, as Bakugou’s defiant glare held for a long, combustible second before it fractured. Something hotter, darker, and infinitely more yielding flashed in his red eyes. He didn’t look away.
Mina kicked Sophia under the table, her eyes screaming I told you!
Izuku released Bakugou’s chin, his hand returning to rest on the back of Bakugou’s neck, a heavy, possessive weight. He turned his attention back to Sophia as if nothing had happened. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m… observing,” she managed, her voice thin.
Bakugou barked a laugh, harsh but devoid of real malice. “Observing. Right.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes appraising her anew. “You’re not as dense as you look, then.”
The meal ended soon after. Mina, sensing the delicate balance had shifted into territory even she wasn’t brave enough to navigate, claimed an early morning and bailed. Sophia found herself walking out into the cool night beside Bakugou and Izuku, the silence between them thick and electric.
“Where’s your dorm?” Izuku asked her, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Other side of campus,” she mumbled.
“We’ll walk you,” Bakugou stated, not offering. It was a decree.
She should have said no. She wanted to say no. The word “okay” fell from her lips instead.
They walked. Bakugou ahead, a brooding, pent-up silhouette under the streetlights. Izuku beside her, his pace measured. The quiet was worse than the diner’s noise. It was full of everything unsaid, everything she’d overheard and everything she’d just witnessed. Her mind kept replaying Izuku’s hand on Bakugou’s chin, the sheer control in the gesture.
They reached a quieter path, lined with trees that cast deep, shifting shadows. Bakugou stopped abruptly, turning to face them. The streetlight haloed his hair, leaving his face in darkness.
“You’re curious,” he said to Sophia, the words an accusation.
“I’m not,” she whispered.
Izuku stepped closer to her side. “It’s okay to be curious.” His voice was a low hum in the dark. “Mina wasn’t entirely wrong, you know.”
Sophia’s breath hitched. She looked up at Izuku. His face was soft, kind. But his eyes held that same focused intensity. “About what?”
“About last night.” Izuku reached out, not touching her, just tracing a line in the air near the collar of her hoodie. “About who was in charge.”
Bakugou moved then, closing the distance in two long strides. He stood right in front of her, his heat radiating. “You got a thing for nerds, Round Face? For watching?”
“Katsuki,” Izuku chided, but there was no real reproach in it.
“No,” Sophia breathed, her back against the rough bark of a tree. She was trapped between them. “I don’t… watch.”
“But you’re thinking about it,” Izuku murmured, now so close she could see the individual freckles on his cheeks. “Aren’t you? You’re thinking about how it works. About how I can tell him to get on his knees and he’ll do it.”
A sharp, wounded sound escaped Bakugou, but he didn’t deny it. He stared at Izuku, his chest rising and falling quickly.
Izuku’s hand finally made contact, his fingertips brushing the side of Sophia’s neck, just below her ear. “Do you want to see?”
She was pansexual. She was polyamorous. She had theories, fantasies. But this was real. This was Bakugou’s furious, vulnerable glare and Izuku’s terrifyingly gentle authority. The want was a physical ache, a pooling heat between her legs that shamed and exhilarated her.
She nodded, a tiny, desperate jerk of her chin.
Izuku smiled. He looked past her, at Bakugou. “On your knees.”
Bakugou held his gaze for a long, defiant moment. Then, with a shuddering exhale, he sank to the pavement. It wasn’t graceful. It was a collapse of will, a raw surrender that made Sophia’s knees weak.
Izuku’s hand slid from Sophia’s neck to cup her cheek. “Watch,” he commanded softly.
He unbuckled his own pants, pushing them and his boxers down just enough. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but he was thick, flushed. Bakugou looked up at him, his expression a mess of anger and want.
“You know what to do,” Izuku said, his voice quiet but inflexible.
Bakugou leaned forward. He didn’t use his hands. He just licked a slow, broad stripe from the base of Izuku’s cock to the tip. Izuku’s breath caught. Then Bakugou took him into his mouth, his head bobbing with a rough, practiced rhythm.
Sophia watched, mesmerized, her own hand flying to her mouth to stifle a whimper. Izuku’s fingers tangled in Bakugou’s spiky hair, not guiding, just holding. His other hand reached for Sophia, pulling her closer until her hip was pressed against his thigh. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the tremor running through him.
“He’s good at this,” Izuku muttered, his eyes half-lidded as he watched Bakugou work. “All that big talk, but he loves a mouthful. Don’t you, Kacchan?”
A guttural moan was Bakugou’s only reply, the vibration making Izuku curse under his breath.
Izuku’s cock was fully hard now, wet from Bakugou’s mouth. He pulled back slightly, and Bakugou followed with a needy noise, his lips slick and swollen.
“Your turn,” Izuku said, his green eyes locking onto Sophia’s. His hand left Bakugou’s hair and cupped the back of Sophia’s head, his touch firm. “Taste him.”
He guided her down. She went, her body moving without conscious thought. The pavement was hard under her knees. Bakugou was inches away, his red eyes blazing up at her, his breath coming in ragged pants. Izuku positioned his cock at her lips.
“Open,” he said.
She did. He pushed in. The stretch was intense, the taste of Bakugou’s saliva and Izuku’s skin salty and unfamiliar on her tongue. Izuku groaned, a deep, resonant sound above her. Bakugou watched, his hand coming up to roughly squeeze his own erection through his jeans.
“Fuck,” Izuku breathed, his fingers tightening in her curls. “Just like that. Take it.”
He started to move, slow at first, then with more insistence. Sophia’s mind blanked, overtaken by sensation—the weight on her tongue, the grip in her hair, the electric awareness of Bakugou watching every second. She moaned around him, the vibration pulling a harsh gasp from Izuku.
“Switch,” Izuku panted, pulling himself from her mouth with a wet pop.
He pushed Bakugou back and positioned Sophia in front of him. Bakugou didn’t need instruction this time. He yanked her sweatpants and underwear down her hips with one rough pull, the cool air hitting her wet skin. Then his mouth was on her, his tongue licking a hot, broad stripe through her folds.
Sophia cried out, her hands flying back to brace herself against Izuku’s thighs. His cock rested against her shoulder blade, hot and pulsing. Bakugou ate her out with the same aggressive focus he did everything, his tongue circling her clit, plunging inside her, relentless. It was too much, too fast, and perfect.
“Is he good?” Izuku asked, his voice rough above her. He was stroking himself, his fist moving in time with Bakugou’s tongue.
“Yes,” Sophia whimpered, her hips bucking against Bakugou’s face.
“Tell him.”
“You’re good,” she gasped, looking down at the top of Bakugou’s blond head. “So good.”
Bakugou growled against her, the vibration pushing her closer to the edge. Her orgasm built, a tight, desperate coil in her gut.
Izuku’s hand left his cock and fisted in Bakugou’s hair again, pulling him back. Bakugou came up with