Chapter 3: Neon Lights and Shattered Glass
The air in Hero’s Brew was thick enough to chew. It tasted of fried garlic, spilled beer, and the cloying sweetness of cheap perfume. Neon light bled across the sticky vinyl of the booth where Sophia sat, painting her hands in alternating pink and blue. She’d worn dark clothes again—a loose, black band t-shirt and jeans—but Mina had insisted on a splash of color, dabbing a shimmer of auburn orange glitter on her eyelids.
Across from her, two students from the support course were laughing a little too loudly at her last joke. The guy, Kenji, had a nice smile. The girl, Aiko, kept brushing her fingers against Sophia’s arm as she reached for her drink.
It was fine. It was normal. This was what she did—bubbly chatter, flirty banter, a night out to prove she wasn’t hiding. To prove the memory of the storage room had been filed away, harmless.
Then Mina’s voice cut through the din, a clarion call of vodka-soda-fueled goodwill. “Hey! You guys should know Sophia’s poly by the wayyy~”
The drawled word landed like a physical object on the table. Kenji’s eyebrows shot up. Aiko’s smile turned intrigued, her eyes dipping to Sophia’s mouth. The ambient noise of the bar seemed to recede, funneling into a roar in Sophia’s ears. She felt her face heat, a flush that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Her thighs pressed together under the table, a reflexive, nervous squeeze.
“Is that right?” Kenji asked, leaning in.
“Mina’s… she’s oversharing,” Sophia managed, her laugh sounding tinny and forced. She couldn’t stop herself. Her gaze sliced across the crowded room, past gyrating bodies and raised glasses, to the corner booth.
Bakugou was staring directly at her. His fingers were curled around a lowball glass of amber whiskey, his knuckles pale. His expression was unreadable, a flat, volcanic calm. Next to him, Izuku was turned toward the conversation, his own smile plastered on, frozen. He held a small shot glass, but his grip was so tight a delicate web of cracks had splintered up from the base. Liquor seeped through the fractures, a slow, honey-colored trickle over his fingers. He didn’t seem to notice.
Bakugou’s eyes didn’t waver from Sophia’s. He raised his glass an inch in a mock toast, then took a slow, deliberate sip. The message was clear: I see you.
She looked away first, her heart hammering against her ribs. The conversation with Kenji and Aiko blurred into meaningless sound.
Later, on the walk back to the dorms, the spring night felt charged. Mina had stumbled ahead with a group, her laughter echoing. Sophia trailed behind, her mind spinning. The sound of footsteps beside her made her jump.
Izuku fell into step. Bakugou was a shadow a few paces ahead, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders tense.
“Hey,” Izuku said softly. His hand was wrapped in a bar napkin, a faint stain of liquor bleeding through. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said too quickly. “Mina just gets… loud.”
“Yeah.” He was quiet for a moment. The only sounds were their footsteps and the distant city hum. “It’s… it’s not a secret, you know. What you are. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” she whispered, but it was a lie. She was mortified. Not by the polyamory, but by the way it had been thrown out there like a challenge, and by the two sets of eyes that had watched her receive it.
Ahead, Bakugou stopped at the crosswalk. He didn’t turn. “Would you shut up about it?” he grunted, not to anyone in particular.
Izuku sighed, a fond, exasperated sound. “We’re just talking, Kacchan.”
“It’s fucking boring. Hurry up.”
They didn’t speak again until they reached the dorm building. Mina and her friends peeled off toward another wing. The silence in their own hallway was absolute, pressurized.
Izuku fumbled with his keys at their door. Bakugou leaned against the wall opposite Sophia, watching her. The hallway light was dim, casting his sharp features in relief.
The lock clicked. Izuku pushed the door open and stepped inside, flipping on a soft lamp. “I’m gonna… wash up,” he said, his voice strangely thick. He disappeared toward the bathroom.
Sophia stood on the threshold, unsure.
“Get in,” Bakugou said, pushing off the wall. He didn’t wait, brushing past her into the apartment.
She followed, closing the door behind her. The familiar scents of sandalwood and clean linen enveloped her. It felt more like a trap than a comfort.
Bakugou was at the small kitchen island, pouring two glasses of water. He slid one toward her.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
He didn’t reply. He just drank, his throat working, his eyes on her over the rim of the glass. He set it down with a quiet tap. “You looked like you wanted to die.”
“What?”
“At the bar. When Pinky shouted that shit. You looked like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.” His voice was analytical, detached.
She shrugged, tracing the condensation on her glass. “It was just awkward.”
“Because of them?” A jerk of his head toward the general direction of the support course kids. “Or because of us?”
Her head snapped up. His gaze was predatory, focused. He was circling something.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” He took a step closer. The space in the kitchen island seemed to shrink. “You’ve been doing a shitty job of pretending nothing happened. Hiding. Watching.” Another step. “That night in the hallway. You weren’t just embarrassed.”
Her breath caught. The memory was a live wire, sparking in her gut. “I was.”
“Bullshit.” He was right in front of her now, close enough that she could smell the whiskey and smoke and his own sharp, clean sweat. “You were turned on.”
The words, so bluntly spoken, stole the air from her lungs. She couldn’t deny it. She just stared, her mouth dry.
From down the hall, the shower started running.
Bakugou’s eyes flicked toward the sound, then back to her. A decision solidified in them. “You wanna know what you heard?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, rough register. “What you’ve been thinking about ever since?”
She nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement.
He closed the final distance. His hand came up, not to touch her, but to rest on the counter behind her, caging her in. “He gets noisy when he’s told to be quiet. Begs when he’s told to take it. His face gets wrecked. Tears, spit, the whole fucking thing.” He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “And he loves it. He loves every second.”
A whimper escaped her throat. She felt dizzy, molten.
“You think about that when you’re alone in your room?” he murmured, his lips almost brushing her skin. “Thinking about his mouth? His hands? What it sounds like when he comes?”
“Yes.” The confession was torn from her, barely a sound.
He pulled back just enough to look at her face. His red eyes scanned her—the parted lips, the wide, dark pupils, the flush spreading down her chest. A cruel, satisfied smirk touched his mouth. “Thought so.”
He straightened up, turning away as if the conversation was over. “Go to bed, Sophia.”
Stunned, rejected, aching, she could only stare at his back. The dismissal was a physical slap. She pushed off the counter, her legs unsteady, and hurried toward her room.
She didn’t make it.
Izuku was standing in the hallway, a towel wrapped low around his hips, his hair damp and curling at his neck. Droplets of water traced paths over his freckled shoulders and chest. He’d heard. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, a deep blush on his cheeks. But there was no shame in his expression now. Only a deep, burning curiosity.
He blocked her path to her door.
She stopped, her heart pounding against her ribs.
“Sophia,” he breathed. His voice was soft, but it held a new weight. A certainty.
He reached out, his fingertips—the ones that could shatter concrete—brushing a loose curl from her cheek with a tenderness that made her tremble. “You don’t have to go.”
Over her shoulder, she heard Bakugou’s footsteps approach. He stopped behind her, his presence a wall of heat. He didn’t touch her, but she felt him everywhere.
“Look at you,” Bakugou said, his voice gruff but softer now, directed at Izuku. “Already hard for her, aren’t you?” He stepped around Sophia, facing Izuku. He hooked a finger in the towel at Izuku’s hip and tugged. It loosened, falling open. Izuku was fully, thickly erect. Izuku made a soft, embarrassed sound, but didn’t move to cover himself.
Bakugou glanced back at Sophia, his eyes blazing. “See? He wants you to look. He wants you to know.”
Izuku’s gaze locked with Sophia’s. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. An invitation. A surrender.
Bakugou’s hand came to the small of Sophia’s back, not pushing, just resting there. “Go on,” he said, his voice a low vibration against her spine. “Touch him. He’s been thinking about your hands since the gym.”
Her own breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. She lifted a hand, her fingers trembling. She pressed her fingertips to the center of Izuku’s chest. His skin was hot, damp from the shower. She felt the frantic beat of his heart beneath her palm.
A low groan rumbled in Izuku’s throat. He covered her hand with his own, holding it against him. “Please,” he whispered, the word loaded with meaning.
That single word shattered her last fragment of hesitation.
She rose onto her toes and kissed him. It was not a gentle kiss. It was hungry, messy, a week of tension and fantasy exploding into heat and taste. Izuku’s arms came around her, crushing her to him, his mouth opening under hers. He tasted like mint toothpaste and something uniquely, inherently Izuku.
Bakugou watched for a moment, a silent, intense spectator. Then his hands were on her hips, pulling her back gently, breaking the kiss. “My turn,” he growled.
He spun her to face him and his mouth crashed down on hers. This was different—all demand and possession, his teeth catching her lower lip, his tongue claiming her mouth. It was overwhelming, brutal, and perfect. One of his hands fisted in her curls, tipping her head back to deepen the kiss. The other slid down, cupping her ass through her jeans, grinding her against the hard ridge of his erection.
She moaned into his mouth, her hands scrambling to grip his shoulders.
He broke the kiss, breathing harshly. “Bedroom. Now.”
Izuku led the way, switching off the lamp, leaving the room lit only by the cool moonlight filtering through the blinds. It was Bakugou and Izuku’s room. Neat, utilitarian, smelling of them. Izuku sat on the edge of the large bed, his eyes dark with want.
Bakugou guided Sophia until she stood between Izuku’s spread knees. He knelt behind her, his body a solid wall of heat at her back. His hands came around her, deftly unbuttoning her jeans. He pushed them, along with her underwear, down her thighs in one rough, efficient movement. The cool air kissed her skin, followed by the scorching heat of his palms smoothing over her hips, her stomach.
“Look at him,” Bakugou commanded in her ear, his voice guttural. “Watch his face while I touch you.”
His fingers slid through her folds. She was soaked, aching. He let out a sharp, satisfied sound. “Fuck, you’re dripping. All this for us?”
She couldn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on Izuku’s. He was watching Bakugou’s hand between her legs, his own hand stroking himself slowly, his mouth slack with awe.
Bakugou’s fingers found her clit, rubbing slow, firm circles. Pleasure, sharp and electric, jolted through her. She cried out, her knees buckling. Bakugou held her up effortlessly, his other arm banded around her waist.
“That’s it,” he grunted. “Get loud. Let him hear you.”
His fingers dipped lower, pushing inside her. She was tight, clenching around him immediately. He worked them in and out, his thumb still circling her clit. The dual sensation was dizzying. Izuku leaned forward, his forehead pressing against her stomach, his breath hot on her skin as he watched, enraptured.
“Kacchan,” Izuku moaned, his own strokes speeding up.
“You want her?” Bakugou asked, his voice strained with his own need.
“Yes,” Izuku gasped. “Please.”
Bakugou withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening in the moonlight. He brought them to Izuku’s mouth. “Taste her.”
Without hesitation, Izuku took Bakugou’s fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean, his eyes fluttering shut with a groan of pleasure. The sight was so obscenely intimate that Sophia felt another surge of wetness between her legs.
Bakugou stood, pulling Sophia with him. He turned her and pushed her gently but firmly onto the bed, onto her back beside Izuku. He stripped off his shirt, then his pants, his cock springing free, thick and already leaking. He loomed over them, a vision of raw power and need.
“Get her ready for me,” he ordered Izuku.
Izuku moved instantly. He knelt between Sophia’s legs, his hands gentle on her thighs as he pushed them wider. He bent his head and his tongue was on her, flat and hot and perfect. He laved at her clit, then plunged his tongue inside her, drinking her in with a desperate, focused hunger. His freckled shoulders bunched with the effort.
Sophia arched off the bed, a shattered cry torn from her throat. Her hands flew to Izuku’s hair, gripping the damp curls. “Izuku… oh god…”
Bakugou watched, stroking himself with a tight fist, his eyes burning. “Yeah, just like that. Make her come on your tongue.”
Izuku redoubled his efforts, adding a finger, then two, curling them inside her. The pressure was exquisite, overwhelming. The coil in her belly wound tighter, tighter, spurred on by the wet, sucking sounds, by Izuku’s eager moans, by Bakugou’s heavy, approving gaze.
It broke. A white-hot wave crashed through her, her body convulsing, a raw, continuous scream ripped from her lungs. Izuku rode it out, lapping at her gently until she went limp, twitching.
Before the last tremor had faded, Bakugou was moving. He pulled Izuku up by the hair, kissing him deeply, tasting her on his mouth. “Good,” he rasped against Izuku’s lips. Then he turned his attention to Sophia, his hands hooking under her knees, spreading her wide. “My turn.”
He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against her. He didn’t ask. He just pushed.
She was still fluttering from her orgasm, sensitive and open. He sank into her with one slow, inexorable thrust, filling her completely, stretching her to a breathtaking fullness. She gasped, her nails digging into the sheets.
He gave her no time to adjust. He pulled back and drove into her again, setting a hard, deep rhythm. Each thrust punched a choked sound from her throat. The bed rocked beneath them.
Izuku knelt beside her, kissing her, swallowing her cries. He ran his hands over her body, teasing her nipples through her shirt, tracing her tattoos—the star on her wrist, the ‘07’ on her hand. “You feel so good,” he mumbled against her mouth. “So perfect.
His thrusts were relentless, a punishing rhythm that shook the headboard against the wall. Each one drove a shattered gasp from Sophia’s lungs. “Fuck, you’re tight,” Bakugou groaned, his own control fraying. Sweat dripped from his jaw onto her chest, darkening the fabric of her shirt over the rose tattoo. “Still clenching after coming. Insatiable little slut.”
The filthy word, growled with rough admiration, sent another shock of heat through her. She tried to bite back the moan, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. It was instinct, a deeply ingrained fear that her pleasure was too loud, too messy, not good enough.
Izuku caught her wrist, gentle but firm, and pulled it away. “Don’t,” he breathed, his eyes burning into hers. “Let us hear you. Please.” He replaced her hand with his lips, kissing her palm, then her knuckles, his own arousal evident in the flush across his skin.
Bakugou’s pace quickened, his hips snapping against hers with a wet, slapping sound. “Yeah, listen to him. You think your cute fucking whimpers are a problem?” He leaned down, his mouth against her ear. “They’re the whole goddamn point.”
The dam broke. A high, breathy “Katsuki!” spilled from her, unbidden and crystal clear. She couldn’t have stopped it if she tried.
He snarled, a feral sound of victory, and slammed into her harder. “Again.”
“Katsuki!” she cried out, her back arching off the bed. It felt like a confession, a surrender of every repressed sound she’d ever swallowed.
“Louder.”
“Katsuki!” This time it was a scream, torn from some raw, unfiltered place inside her. Her vision blurred at the edges.
He swore viciously, his rhythm stuttering. “Fuck, I’m gonna—“ He pulled out abruptly, his cock slick and throbbing. “Her mouth. Now.”
Izuku moved with fluid urgency. He guided Sophia onto her side facing him, then leaned over her. Bakugou knelt behind her, his hand on her hip, his heavy breath against her neck. Izuku’s tip brushed her lips. “Open,” he whispered, his voice thick.
She did, taking him in, the salt and musk of him flooding her senses. Bakugou entered her from behind in the same instant, filling her completely, a double claiming that stole her breath. Izuku’s fingers tangled gently in her curls as she took him deeper, her muffled moans vibrating around him.
Bakugou set a brutal, rolling pace, each thrust rocking her forward onto Izuku. “Look at that,” he panted, his hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. “Taking us both. So fucking greedy.” His other hand snaked around her, his fingers finding her clit again, rubbing rough, tight circles.
The overstimulation was absolute. Pleasure coiled, a spring wound past its limit. Tears leaked from her squeezed-shut eyes. She was making noises she’d never heard herself make—guttural, whining sobs around Izuku’s length, punctuated by Bakugou’s name on every exhale.
Izuku’s hips stuttered. “I’m close, Kacchan, I can’t—“
“Come in her mouth,” Bakugou commanded, his own voice ragged with impending release. “Do it.”
Izuku’s control snapped. He trembled, a deep groan ripping from his chest as he spilled over her tongue. She swallowed instinctively, the act pushing her closer to her own edge. Bakugou’s fingers worked her faster, his thrusts turning shallow and erratic.
“Come for me, Sophia,” he growled, his teeth scraping the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Now.”
It obliterated her. Her orgasm ripped through her like a seismic event, a silent, open-mouthed scream before sound returned as a broken, endless wail of their names—“Izuku! Katsuki!”—as she convulsed between them.
Bakugou followed, driving deep one last time with a shout that was more roar than word, his release pulsing inside her warmth.
Silence fell, broken only by the ragged symphony of their breathing. Bakugou withdrew, collapsing beside her. Izuku gently eased himself from her mouth, pressing a soft, sated kiss to her forehead.
She was boneless, wrecked, floating. The old fear—that she was too much, too loud, not enough—felt like dust in the aftermath. Izuku traced the line of her jaw with a reverence that made her want to cry. Bakugou’s hand came up, his thumb rough but gentle as it wiped a tear from her cheek.
“You see?” Izuku murmured, his voice hushed with awe. “You’re incredible.”
Bakugou just stared at her, his chest still heaving. His red eyes held none of their usual sharpness, just a dark, satiated heat. He looked from her blissfully ruined face down to where they were joined, where his release was already leaking onto the sheets.
“Round one,” he said, the words a low promise in the quiet room. His fingers skimmed her inner thigh, a possessive claim. “We’re just getting started.”