Stiles meets Cora at the end of year party. There’s too much alcohol and he is on top of the world with the whole of summer looming ahead of him. She’s pretty enough, and she’s funny and smart and she’s only in town until the end of summer. She’s not looking for anything serious – just a summer romance with a cute boy, maybe? – and Stiles thinks that maybe that’s good enough for him.

They meet up again the next day at the only cafe in Beacon Hills, this time without the haze of vodka, and Stiles still likes her well enough. She’s not Lydia by any standards, is something grey and pale in comparison, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe after all the drama he’s had to deal with later he needs someone a little less fiery. Cora ticks all the right boxes and says all the right things at all the right times, and by the end of the first week Stiles thinks maybe he could love her for it, one day. Because Cora is easy and she doesn’t push him or ask questions.

And even though she’ll be going off to college in September and he’ll still be here in Beacon Hills for one last year of school, he doesn’t mind. Because six weeks isn’t long enough to fall in love with someone, is it, so it’s not like he’ll end up getting too attached.

*

At the beginning of the second week of summer, Cora invites Stiles over to her place to stay the night, and Stiles doesn’t really understand it but he says yes anyway. They watch a chick-flick tucked up in her bed, and when they have sex for the first time it’s gentle and it’s nice enough and it’s easy. She curls her slight frame up around him afterwards and falls asleep, dark hair fanned out across the pillow. Stiles thinks she looks like an angel, sweet and soft. He thinks that maybe an angel isn’t quite what he’s looking for, though.

Stiles can’t fall asleep as easily as she can. He lies there next to her for a while, listening to her breathing, but then he gets fidgety and decides to go down and get a glass of water from the kitchen. He tiptoes down the stairs in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, careful not to wake her.

The kitchen light is already on. Stiles is sure that Cora turned it off.

There’s a man in there when Stiles walks through the door. He’s tall, much taller than Stiles. He turns around at the sound of his footsteps, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat. He has the same dark hair as his sister, except short and styled upwards and a darker shade of ebony. His lips are pink and set in a thin line, and his skin is alabaster. He’s wearing nothing but a black towel, slung low off of his hips. He’s…he’s so fucking broad, is the thing. Stiles doesn’t think he’s seen anything like it before, the definition of his muscles and his abs and the size of his arms. Jackson is the most built guy he knows, and he doesn't even come close to this dude. He’s beautiful, Stiles thinks, but he quickly swallows the thought down.

“Hi,” the man says, looking Stiles up and down and then turning back around again. Stiles is momentarily distracted by all the muscles in his back that flex when he moves.

“Sorry, dude,” he manages to say then. “I didn’t realise anyone else was here. I thought-”

“-that Cora owned a three bed apartment?” he suggests flatly. “She’s seventeen.”

“Right,” Stiles says.

The guy gives him a look as he reaches up to pull a bowl out of the cupboard behind him. The towel around his waist shifts slightly; dips to show off the shape of his perfectly sculptured V, the smooth expanse of his hips and the smattering of dark hair there disappearing down beneath the towel.

Stiles clears his throat. “And who are you, exactly?”

He looks up and fixes his green eyes on him in mild surprise. “She didn’t tell you?”

“No,” he frowns. “She doesn’t really tell me much at all, actually.”

He takes a seat at the kitchen table, resting his endless bare legs up onto the top. “That sounds like Cora,” he says mildly. “I’m Derek, then. Her brother, part-time guardian and full-time pain in the ass. And you are?”

“Stiles,” he says, shaking his hand. “Her…well. Sort of friend, I guess.”

“Not for much longer, pal.”

“Sorry?”

“She won’t keep you around,” Derek shrugs. “Cora likes a challenge. She’s an adrenaline junkie, but you don’t make her scream.”

Stiles just stares at him. “Pardon?”

“When you fuck her,” he says, all matter-of-fact. “You don’t make her scream. She’s had boyfriends that make the whole apartment shake, but not you.”

“Oh,” Stiles says weakly.

“Paper walls,” Derek shrugs again. He takes a slow mouthful of cereal. “…not saying she didn’t enjoy it, pal. I guess girls like a little bit of gentle love-making from time to time.”

His voice is dripping with sarcasm and Stiles thinks the guy might be a right little shit, actually, beautiful face and body aside. Still, Stiles forces a smile. “I guess they do.”

“Nothing beats a good fucking though,” he says then. “Having someone wreck you and tear you apart and fuck you up. That’s my kind of sex.”

Stiles feels a little hot under the collar. He should leave, he should go back up to Cora, but he can’t tear his eyes off of the man in front of him. There’s something about him that makes Stiles’ skin prickle, makes his pulse quicken. “That’s, uh…that’s good to know,” he says.

“Yeah,” Derek, says. Their eyes meet across the room, green on brown, and their gazes linger a little too long. Stiles swallows hard, and Derek’s tongue darts out to wet his lips – Stiles can’t help but feel that there’s something predatory about it. “Yeah, it is.”

*

After that Stiles finds any excuse he can to spend time at the Hale apartment. He tries to ignore the sinking feeling that settles deep into his bones when Derek isn’t there, sprawled across the sofa or leaning against one of the metal beams stretching from floor to ceiling. He is there mostly, though. Stiles starts noticing all sorts of little things about him, even when they don’t usually actually talk to each other; the way he runs his fingers through his hair, teasing it upwards into it’s usual quiff, the way he hardly ever wears clothes around the apartment, the way his voice is especially raspy first thing in the morning. Stiles doesn’t know why, but he likes knowing all these little things. He wants to learn more, wants to pick them up one by one over time and catalogue them in his mind in the forbidden little special corner reserved just for Derek Hale.

Cora doesn’t notice. She doesn’t notice the way Stiles always suggests they watch tv in the living room instead of in her bedroom. She doesn’t notice the way he sometimes catches himself just staring at her brother from across the room. She doesn’t notice the way that most of the time when he tumbles over the edge of his orgasm he has the image of someone else burnt into his mind, and she definitely doesn’t notice the way he has to clamp his mouth shut to stop him crying out the wrong name. Cora doesn’t notice, and Cora continues to be nice and sweet and funny and smart and easy, and so Stiles doesn’t say anything.  He doesn’t tell her that for some ungodly reason he finds her brother obscenely attractive and he certainly doesn’t tell her all the things he’d like to do to him if he only had the guts.

Stiles starts dreaming of Derek at night. Stiles hasn’t had a wet dream in almost seven years, until he meets Derek. Now, more often than not, Stiles jolts upright in the middle of the night with sticky sheets, gasping at the air, someone else’s green eyes still seared into the backs of his eyelids.

*

At the end of the second week, Cora goes on a trip out of state.

She’s visiting a friend of hers who moved out there on a gap year. She’s almost apologetic to Stiles when she tells him, and that makes him feel as if he should’ve answered with something a little more distraught than a shrug – because they are together, after all, and he shouldn’t be looking forward to her leaving town. Especially not so that he can spend time with her older brother.

She leaves on the Friday morning. He turns up outside her apartment early Saturday evening with a dish in his hand – because Cora had once mentioned how much the Hale’s loved cherry pie and he couldn’t resist spending the entire afternoon perfecting one.

Derek opens the door. Just the sight of him makes something inside of Stiles’ flip – makes it twist and churn and flutter. Makes him feel alive.

“Hi,” he says brightly, pasting on a smile. “Is Cora in?”

“She’s not here,” Derek says slowly. Always slow, always sexy, always such a huge fucking temptation. He studies Stiles’ face with dark eyes. “She’s out of town.”

“Really?” Stiles says, his eyes wide with perfectly honed mock-surprise. “What’s she doing there?”

“Visiting a friend,” he frowns. He opens the door slightly and Stiles catches sight of some skin. A lot of skin, actually, even more so than last time – and jesus fucking christ this guy is going to be the death of him if he keeps insisting on not wearing clothes around the house. “She didn’t tell you? She’s known about it for months.”

“Not that I remember,” Stiles lies smoothly. He lets out a long, weary sigh. “Shit, I feel like a right dick now. I thought we were going to have a nice night in. I baked a pie and everything.”

The door opens a fraction more. “A pie? What flavour?”

“…cherry?” he says hopefully.

Derek opens the door fully in one swift movement, and Stiles feels a rush of relief. “Well we shouldn’t let a good pie go to waste,” he says briskly. “I suppose I can entertain you for a while.”

They go into the living room. Derek sets them up on the bigger of the two sofas, with a tray for the pie and a spoon each. He switches on the television and they just sit there, side by side, each of them dipping into the dessert silently as they watch the screen.

Or, rather, while Derek watches the screen. Because Stiles’ whole body is thrumming, alive and wired with energy. Because Derek has never been this close, and he is only wearing a pair of patterned board shorts and he looks so fucking good. So Stiles watches Derek instead, and only misses his mouth once with the spoon when he gets particularly distracted by the way Derek swallows down his pudding, Adams Apple bobbing obscenely.

They finish the pie, and the programme on the television draws to an end. Stiles doesn’t remember what it was, but Derek sighs a lot and starts flicking through the programmes trying to find something else to replace is with.

“Saturday night tv is shit,” Derek complains eventually, switching the box off completely. “No wonder I never watch it.”

“No?” Stiles says. “What do you do instead?”

The older boy runs a hand through his curls and furrows his eyebrows a little, and it shouldn’t make his heart stutter but it does anyway. “Well, Saturday night is date night,” he shrugs.

Stiles processes the information, tries not to picture him out on a date with a hot girl. “You don’t…you haven’t got anyone? For date night, I mean?”

“Like who?” Derek asks, turning on the sofa so that they’re face to face.

“Like…I don’t know. Like a girlfriend, maybe?”

He looks like he wants to laugh. Stiles wants to laugh too, deep in the pit of his stomach. He can feel it bubbling up, just beneath the surface, hysterical and ready to erupt – and it’s Derek that does this to him, Derek that makes him feel so unstable. “Stiles, I haven’t had a girlfriend since I was eleven.”

“Oh,” Stiles says.

“No boyfriend, though,” he hums. “Not at the moment. Not for tonight.”

“Oh,” Stiles says again, his voice thick. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

And Derek is looking at him, studying him, watching him, his green eyes fixed so resolutely on him that he can feel his skin prickling underneath his scrutiny. And it’s intense – everything about Derek fucking Hale is intense.

“No,” Stiles mutters finally. Because he’s the best liar he knows, but right here, right now, he can’t do it for shit.

“Have you ever been with another guy, Stiles?” Derek asks, his head tilted to one side, his eyes focused.

“No,” Stiles squeaks. But what he really means is I never wanted to before you.

“You should,” Derek says thoughtfully. “It’s good, Stiles. So much better than a girl. So much more. Because I’ve tried both, you know? Fucked both, been fucked by both. And girls are okay but they’re not the best. Boys are best. You haven’t lived until you’ve been properly fucked by a boy.”

Stiles let out a little noise. “R-Really?”

“Really,” Derek nods. “Boys just know what other boys like. They know where to put their hands, and what to do with them. And their hands are so big, Stiles. So much bigger. They can do so much more. I’ve never met a girl who has me begging for it as much as a boy could. Boys really make me beg, Stiles. Down on my hands and knees, begging. I’d do anything for a boy. Boys are hot, aren’t they? Don’t you think?”

Stiles just looks at him, his hands trembling and his breathing irregular, and swallows hard.

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Thought so.”

He leans forward on the sofa so that his mouth is inches from Stiles’, his breath light across his lips. “I could fuck you so good, Stiles,” he murmurs. “I could get you so worked up. I could have you underneath me, begging me, chanting my name.”

Stiles can’t move, can’t make a single noise because his voice is so dry with longing. Derek shifts closer, runs his hand gentle up Stiles’ thigh. And Stiles should move, Stiles should say something, Stiles should push him away because he knows that Derek is teasing, he knows that Derek is mocking him. But he can’t.

The older boy’s hand inches closer to Stiles’ crotch, and then his palm is ghosting across Stiles’ growing bulge. Stiles inhales sharply and tries desperately not to explode.

“Hmm. A straight boy that likes men, huh?” Derek drawls, his voice saccharine. He gives Stiles’ thigh a squeeze and then sits back on the sofa again, putting distance between them. “Well aren’t you just the sweetest of contradictions?”

And yeah, Stiles is sort of royally fucked.

*

Stiles can’t sleep. He tries, at first. He tosses and turns in his bed but his mind keeps wandering back to Derek, to all the things he said and the way he looked and the way he smelt and the stupid little smile he does when he lets his guard down and Stiles is too wired to sleep because everything is Derek and he doesn’t know how to stop it – doesn’t know if even wants to.

He doesn’t know why he goes back over there. Or, rather, he does know why – he just can’t believe he actually follows through with it. Maybe it’s because the thought of Derek won’t stop pulsing through his veins and maybe, just maybe, he can have this one dirty little secret. It’s dark out and Beacon Hills is still and his fingers drum impatiently against the steering wheel of his jeep as he drives.

He pulls up into one of the empty parking spaces outside the building a few minutes later. He pulls himself together before he climbs out, pulling at the bottom of his jumper and ruffling up his hair with his fingertips. He knocks on the front door, once, twice, three times.

It takes a moment for Derek to answer, and in those seconds Stiles feels like he might just die. But then the door is being pulled open and Derek is right there in front of him – and it’s only been an hour or two since he left but Stiles has almost missed him, and now that he’s here again everything around him has come back into focus, sharp and clear and beautiful.

“Stiles,” he says, clearly surprised. He’s changed out of his board shorts and now all he’s wearing is a pair of tight boxer-briefs, ready for bed. “Did you forget something?”

“Sort of,” Stiles mumbles. He steps forward onto the doorstep and looks up at the older boy through his eyelashes, his hands shaking and his heart pounding. “It’s, er…it’s about that whole fucking-me-so-good thing? Was that a promise, or…?”

Realisation dawns across Derek’s face, lighting up his green eyes. Stiles half expects him to tease him again and torment him further, but he doesn’t. He just gives him a filthy smirk and pulls Stiles forward into the house by the front of his shirt, and slams the front door shut after them.

*

Being with Cora is easy, because Cora is sweet and nice and smart and funny in equal measures, but being with Derek is breath-taking. Derek is a little wild and rough around the edges, and he’s often sharp and regularly unpredictable and he’s always, always exciting  - and he turns out to be more of a handful than Stiles could ever have predicted.

They see each other every day that Cora is away. Mainly at night, but sometimes during the day too. They just fuck, mostly. Derek takes him apart piece by piece and he wrecks him and fucks him up and he has Stiles chanting his name just like he promised like it’s a fucking mantra, and Stiles loves it.

Because Stiles always shied away from excitement, like he shied away from Lydia, and he’s always chosen the easy route, like he chose Cora. Derek isn’t easy, though, but Stiles soon realises that he’s everything he never knew he wanted instead.

Each time they meet, they stay together a little longer. Hurried goodbyes turn into pillow talk, which soon stretches out into real conversation. Derek and Cora are so similar that it actually hurts, sometimes, except everything with Derek is emphasised and amplified until the proportions are so, so out of touch. So he’s a handful, and sometimes he makes Stiles frown and sometimes he makes Stiles cry with laughter but he always makes Stiles happy so he’s more than worth the effort it takes to keep up with him.

Stiles realises it’s gotten out of hand somewhere in the middle of the fourth week of summer. He realises it when Derek mentions another boy and jealousy shoots through him, white hot and burning. He realises it when he finds he’s memorised the shape and shade of the other boy’s lips. It’s sort of a sinking feeling, that realisation that he’s started falling when it was only ever supposed to be a crush. Because there is just two weeks of summer left before he has to go back to school and that’s not long enough but it’s also too much at the same time, so Stiles doesn’t think about it.

*

The night before Cora comes home to Beacon Hills, Derek sleeps at Stiles’ house. He doesn’t mean to, but it happens anyway. The Sheriff is working the late shift so they don’t worry about him, and now it’s late, and they’ve spent the best part of four hours having mind-blowing sex and aggressively battling each other at cards. Stiles shouldn’t find it so endearing when Derek snorts with laughter or throws his hand down in a huff, but he does.

Now the older boy is curled up in Stiles’ double bed, his hair dark against the pillow. His thick eyebrows are furrowed in sleep, his lips parted, and Stiles thinks that maybe he should look like an angel because he’s so goddamn beautiful, but he doesn’t. He looks like the devil, tempting and volatile and dangerously attractive, and somehow that is a million times better.

Mainly, though, Stiles just thinks he looks perfect – and when Derek rolls over in his sleep and reaches for his hand, Stiles holds him back twice as tight.

*

Cora comes back.

She’s caught a bit of a tan from the good weather and she looks really happy and healthy and pretty, but Stiles can’t look at her the same. Her hands are the wrong size in his, her hair too long, her lips too full, her body too curvy. Stiles feels so guilty that it makes him feel sick. He feels guilty and dirty and wrong, but that’s wrong in itself because being with Derek could never be anything other than very very right. Before, being with Cora was easy. Now it is difficult, so so difficult. Now every second is a lie and every second is Stiles wishing he were somewhere else. Wishing he were with Derek.

The first time she invites him round, he goes – but only because he knows Derek isn’t in. it’s not that he doesn’t want to see him, exactly – except it is. He wants to see him and he doesn’t want to see him in equal parts. He doesn’t know what it is; all he knows is that when Derek is around, it’s easier to catch his breath.

The second time she invites him round, he refuses, because he knows Derek is there doing some reading for work. So she comes round to his house instead, and they watch a film and kiss a little and the whole time Stiles thinks of someone else.

Derek turns up at the house not even half an hour after his sister leaves.

“You smell like her,” is the first thing he says, and it almost sounds like an accusation. Stiles sniffs at the collar of his t-shirt, and sure enough Cora has left her mark there, sweet and floral. Stiles doesn’t want sweet and floral. Stiles wants musk and spice and man.

“She just left,” Stiles says. Derek steps over the threshold and into Stiles’ house, crowding him. Stiles thinks that maybe that’s the way it’s always been since the first time they met four weeks ago – enveloped and surrounded and swallowed whole by everything that is distinctively Derek.

“You haven’t been round.”

“I know,” Stiles whispers. And he promised himself he wouldn’t do this, that he wouldn’t do this to Cora, but he can’t help the way his pulse quickens or his heart stutters in his chest, because it’s Derek and he has become so much in so little time and Stiles still hasn’t gotten his head around it, because it was only ever supposed to be one good fuck.

Derek reaches out, brushes his fingertips against the skin of Stiles’ arm; alabaster against alabaster, like two sides of the same coin. “She doesn’t have to know, Stiles. We can…we can keep this between us.”

Stiles swallows hard. Because he wants this, he wants to believe this, but he can’t. He can’t keep on keeping all these secrets. “I can’t lie, Derek. Not to your sister.”

“Because she’s a girl?”

“Because she’s my girlfriend. And you’re just…”

Derek freezes. “Just what?”

“You’re just you and I’m just me and we were just having a good time, weren’t we?” Stiles says. Even though it’s a lie. Even though he thinks maybe he loved Derek right from the very start. Except that’s just his problem, isn’t it? Falling in love with people who don’t have the capacity to love him back. Stiles always loved faster, harder, more – and that wasn’t Derek’s fault in the slightest but it stung all the same. “You were just showing me how it could be, weren’t you? With a boy. You were just showing me.”

“…yeah,” Derek says eventually, frowning a little. “Yeah, obviously.  But…that’s it? Fun over?”

“I can’t see you both,” Stiles says weakly.

“No,” he says. He scratches the back of his head, ruffles his hair, looks back at Stiles with blank eyes. “I guess not.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles mumbles, but what he really wants to say is I’m sorry, I would chose you if I could, I think I might just love you, but that’s far too much.

“Why? It was just fucking, pal. Don’t overthink it.”

Stiles feels his stomach sinking down, down. Because it was never just fucking, not for him. Not even at the beginning. “Right.”

Derek’s face softens. “You’ve got my number.”

Stiles nods glumly. Derek steps forwards, hesitates, and then raises his arms to cup Stiles’ face in his huge hands. He ducks his head until his lips are pressed against Stiles’ own, and it’s brief and chaste and gentle and then Derek is gone without another word, disappearing off down the path and into the darkness.

Stiles brushes his mouth with his fingertips, and his breath catches in his throat as he realises that after all this time, that was their very first kiss.

And if he didn’t know it before, he knows for certain now that he’s so absolutely and completely fucked that he doesn’t even know where to start.

*

Stiles calls Derek before the fifth week of summer is even up. He hasn’t said a word to Cora, but everything is so out of focus, everything has shifted and changed and blurred and if Stiles doesn’t get the clarity that Derek brings soon he is going to explode.

Derek doesn’t ask questions. He turns up on the doorstep ten minutes later and leads Stiles up the stairs to his room. He fucks Stiles into the mattress as good as always, but this time he leaves trails of kisses in his wake. This time, instead of just a good fuck, it feels something like sex.

Derek doesn’t say anything about the fact that Stiles’ eyes are damp after, even if he can still see the tears shining there. Stiles is eternally grateful, because he wouldn’t know how to talk about it. Wouldn’t know how to put all that he was feeling into words. Wouldn’t know how to tell him how much it scared him to feel this much, to fall so hard.

Derek doesn’t say a word. He just pulls Stiles closer underneath the covers and curls himself around him, curls until they are an intrinsic tangle of limbs, and then holds him tight.

*

Stiles wakes up on the first morning of the last week of summer with a sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. One more week, and then all this will be over. Cora will be at university and he will be at school and his summer will have faded away as nothing more than a distant memory.

That day he sees both of them. Cora first, round at her apartment. Derek’s there, Stiles knows it, but they don’t cross paths. Cora talks excitedly about moving on with her life and leaving Beacon Hills. Stiles really, really wishes that he cared. He wishes he’d fallen in love with her this summer, instead of her brother. He wishes it was her who filled every one of his thoughts, because that would be easy. But he didn’t and so it’s not and so when he kisses her goodbye as he leaves, he’s careful to just miss the edge of her mouth.

“I can taste her,” Derek says later that night.

“You can’t,” Stiles argues.

Derek just looks at him, a frown tugging at his lips. Stiles lets out a soft sigh and reaches out to pull him closer, to kiss him long and hard and thorough until they are both panting and rutting against each other needily.

“Better?” he whispers, his forehead pressed against the older boys, brown eyes looking imploringly into green. Derek just nods and leans forward to steal another kiss.

*

They don’t have sex that night. They kiss a whole lot, though, and Stiles thinks that he might just prefer that.

Derek asks to say. Stiles says yes. They curl up in Stiles’ bed and speak in murmured conversation until the sun starts to rise above the town outside the window. “Are you still sleeping with her?” Derek asks, his voice a whisper, on the very edge of sleep.

“No!” Stiles whispers back, his face flushing. “No, I…I couldn’t. I can’t. I only think of you.”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Stiles lies there frozen, his thoughts swirling at a hundred miles an hour. But then Derek reaches over and takes Stiles’ hand in his own beneath the sheets, pulls him close, buries his face into Stiles’ chest. “Good,” he whispers. “That’s good.”

*

Derek sees Stiles kissing her. It’s the briefest of kisses, just a press of lips on lips, but Derek sees it. Later, when the three of them are in the kitchen, Derek tries to talk to Stiles. Stiles shoots him a look and nods at Cora and then he suggests out loud that the two of them go into her room to watch a film. They leave. Derek is alone.

Derek is furious. He doesn’t understand why. He’s not mad at Stiles and he’s not mad at Cora and he’s not really even mad at himself for getting into the situation in the first place. He’s just mad, and it simmers under the surface for the rest of the week. He doesn’t text Stiles back, doesn’t answer his calls, doesn’t see him. And it almost kills him, how much he misses him.

That’s when Derek realises how deep he’s fallen. And it was supposed to be one good fuck, it was only ever supposed to be one good fuck, but Stiles has turned out to be so much more. It’s only been six weeks, but it feels more like a lifetime.

Derek has to see him. It’s pouring with rain and the air is heavy with a summer storm and the sky keeps flashing lilac with lightening, but still Derek goes. He runs the whole way, doesn’t stop until he’s at Stiles’ door.

“Derek?” Stiles frowns when he opens it up. “What the fu-”

Derek cuts him off with a kiss, deep and rough and possessive. Derek claims him. Derek claims all of him and he clutches him so tight. He never wants to let him go.

“What’s wrong, Derek?” Stiles says when they finally break apart. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he says. “But I can’t carry on like this.”

“Like what, Derek?”

“This. You avoiding me in front of her. You kissing her instead of me. I don’t want to be your dirty little secret, Stiles,” Derek says, his voice choked. “I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I can’t share you, for fucks sake. I want all of you. I want you to be mine.”

“I always have been,” Stiles tells him, fast and firm and reassuring. He can’t believe what he’s hearing, can’t believe that maybe for once someone fell just as hard and fast as he did. His heart soars, up, up , up. “Always will be too, if you’ll let me.”

“Please,” Derek begs. Stiles wraps his arms around him and holds him close, pulls him out of the rain and kisses his hair until he stops shaking.

*

Cora isn’t surprised when Stiles turns up on the doorstep the next morning and tells her that he thinks she’s lovely but that he has to end things for her own sake.

“It was just for the summer anyway,” she shrugs, and he’s never been more grateful of how sweet and smart and funny and easy she is. “But I’m still glad I met you.”

Stiles is glad he met her too. More glad than she’ll ever know.

*

Summer draws to an end.

Stiles and Derek decide to keep whatever it is they have under wraps until Cora has left for college. Then there will be no more sneaking and no more hiding.

It’s a Saturday when she finally goes. She looks pretty and happy and ready to move on and start the new chapter of her life. She doesn’t even blink when Stiles comes over to wave her off and stands just a little too close to her brother. Maybe she knew all along. Stiles certainly did.

The two of them stand there in the middle of the road, waving at her in the wing mirror until her car is out of sight. They carry on standing there even when she’s gone, even when it’s finally just the two of them. Stiles feels something settle inside him. He doesn’t know what will happen now, or how long this fire for Derek inside his chest will keep on burning for. All he knows that he fell in love with the unexpected. He has Derek and Derek has him and they had their summer – and Stiles hopes with everything he has that they will have many more summers to come.

“She’s nice,” Stiles says eventually. The sky is still impossibly brown and the sun is still impossibly bright and Stiles is finally ready for what comes next. “Cora is really, really nice.”

“She is,” Derek nods. And there’s so much more he wants to say, so many words right on the tip of his tongue, like I want you and I need you and I love you and please let me keep you.

“But she’s not you,” he adds.

“She’s not me,” Derek agrees, and his hand finds Stiles’ and holds it tight.


Peter was terrified. The encounter with Frank shook him to his core and he decided to dial things back with Cynthia. He didn't outright tell her why, but instead made up vague excuses as to why he couldn't meet. He knew this wasn't a long term solution. If he didn't disclose his fears to Cynthia, he would run the risk of hurting her and losing her forever.

He decided to spend more time with Charlie and Kevin. They just assumed things between him and Amanda had fizzled out again.

"How's Cynthia doing these days?" Charlie asked before he took a swing of his golf club. The three of them were lined up at the far end of the driving range. A bottle of Jameson sat on a small table with three red Solo cups.

"What?" Peter asked, caught off guard.

"I'm talking to Kevin. I wanna know how that bodacious babe is doing these days," Charlie laughed.

"Dude. Fuck off. Ok? Just fuck off," Kevin said as he took a shot of Jameson.

"I'll fuck off... to your house," Charlie said again. This time Kevin raised his golf club as if he was going to slam it down on Charlie's head. He jokingly held up his hands to protect himself.

"You still think your old man is sleeping around?" Charlie asked, this time being serious.

"When's he not?" Kevin responded.

"That's bullshit," Peter said. "If I were your stepmom, I'd just leave him."

"Yeah, well... she doesn't," Kevin grumpily muttered.

The boys were well versed in Frank's apparent adulterous activities away on business. Just a few years prior, a fling with a flight attendant across the country threatened their marriage, but they worked things out privately. Cynthia and Frank were rarely seen together as he traveled a lot and she didn't really seem to mind much.

"I wouldn't wanna be the guy who steps in on their marriage," Charlie said, to no one in particular. "Your Dad is one bad motherfucker."

"Yeah, well. Fuck him is what I say," Kevin declared before launching a golf ball into the stratosphere.

"I'm out, guys," Kevin said. "Goin' to Amy's."

"Pound town?" Charlie asked.

"Naw she's on her period. Maybe a blowie," Kevin responded with a smile. "Maybe a couple blowies," he laughed.

Charlie responded by miming a blowjob and pretending to do a gag. "Ugh it's so big, I can't get it all down my throat!" he said in a high-pitched voice. Everyone cracked up laughing as Kevin took off.

Charlie and Peter had a few more shots, hit a bunch of balls and ultimately called it a night an hour or so later.

"Dude," Charlie said as they walked towards the parking lot. "Kevin's stepmom is seriously so fucking hot. I never really noticed it until recently. I mean, I know we all used to joke about her tits when we were younger, but she is legit doing it for me these days, bro."

Peter nodded, while looking down as they walked. He pictured Cynthia's mouth wrapped around his cock. He vividly remembered the feeling of her tight pussy pulsing on him as she came. He pictured her perfect body being showered in thick white ropes from his spasming penis. "Yeah dude," he agreed. "She's pretty hot."

Peter checked his phone in the car and, sure enough, Cynthia had texted him several times. She also called him, something she never did. Peter decided to call her back. He was feeling really charged up and pondered setting up an impromptu meet. Besides, it had been a while since they got together.

"Hey," he said cheerfully. But the voice on the other end was not so cheerful.

"Peter, I need you to come over."

"What's wrong?"

"Can you come by the house?" she said in a concerned voice. Something was not right.

"Yes, I can. But you need to tell me what's wrong. Are you in danger?"

"I'm not in danger. But we need to talk."

"Ok?"

"I'll see you soon," she said softly before hanging up. Peter was dumbstruck. As he frantically drove over to her house, he imagined what he'd do if Frank were to attack him. He contemplated turning around, but Cynthia's voice made it seem serious. He couldn't leave her with him in case Frank was violent.

Peter had never been in such a situation before and didn't truly have a good plan. He didn't even really know what he was walking into, but it certainly wasn't good.

He slowly and carefully approached the front door of the house. The lights were on. He tried to peer inside and get a glimpse of what was happening before entering. The sun had just set so it started to get dark. He couldn't see anything.

He raised his hand to knock, but the door opened before he could do so. "Hi honey," Cynthia said as she stood in the doorway. She reached out and gently grazed Peter's cheek with her hand. "Hi handsome," she said.

"Are you ok?" he asked, concerned as he stepped inside.

"I'm fine. It's ok," she said quietly. Peter suspected she didn't want to be heard. "Come with me," she said as she led him through the house towards the kitchen.

She poured a glass of wine for both of them. Peter tentatively took a sip. "Cynthia, you're scaring me," he said. "You're acting strange."

"I'm going to be straight with you, Peter. He knows. He knows everything."

Peter's stomach dropped. His worst nightmare was confirmed. His first instinct was to run out of the house away from her and never see her again. His second, more leveled instinct was to stay... and fight. "What?" he asked, stunned.

"He told me he knows about us. He saw us in the park. He's seen your car parked around the corner. He's no dummy, Peter."

Peter took another sip, more generous this time. He leaned on the kitchen island with both hands, staring at the granite. He remained silent.

"It's not what you think. He's not mad, believe me. He's hurt more than anything," she said. "Peter, look at me."

He looked up.

"I had a sense this would happen. You probably did too."

He solemnly nodded. It was true. There was no way their fling was going to go the distance undetected. Something had to give. Now it was time to pay the price.

"Listen, he's coming home any minute. But I don't want you to run. I want to confront the situation together. I promise he's not angry or upset."

"He's not angry?! How can that be? He knows I'm fucking you regularly!" Peter began to become agitated. He didn't believe Cynthia. He didn't want to stick around for when Frank came home. Nothing about that scenario seemed appealing to him.

"Can you please just stay by my side, Peter? I adore you. I adore him too. I want to be able to work through this together."

A car door slammed outside. It was time.

Peter suddenly looked towards the window in a panic. "He's here?"

Cynthia nodded. "Please just stay here. Follow my lead, ok?"

Peter's heart nearly jumped out his body as he heard the door open. What on Earth was he about to get into? This was not how he envisioned his fling with a married woman would end.

Footsteps came closer and closer towards the kitchen. Cynthia stared at the doorway to the hallway waiting for him to emerge.

"Hey," a familiar voice called out.

It was Kevin.

"What's happening, guys?" he asked before he hugged Cynthia and nodded towards Peter. He poured himself a glass of wine.

"Hey man," Peter said. He felt relieved it was Kevin instead of Frank. Perhaps he could plan an escape now instead of confronting Frank with Cynthia.

"I told him," Cynthia said. "I told him everything."

Peter's mouth dropped.

Cynthia hugged Kevin again. "I'm so sorry sweetie," she said.

Kevin didn't say a word. He gulped down another sip. "Does he know?" he asked.

Cynthia shook her head. "Why don't we go into the living room, shall we?"

"Guys, what the hell is going on?" Peter asked. Kevin walked over and patted him on the back. "Just follow me, bud. We have a lot to discuss."

-----------------------------------------------

What happened next, Peter could have never even imagined. Over several glasses of wine in the living room, Cynthia and Kevin divulged their nearly two year long relationship, unbeknownst to Frank, Peter, or anyone for that matter. It was kept completely secret.

A mutual disdain for Frank and his extramarital behavior led the two to become closer. Their proximity in age also allowed for more intimate moments to develop over long nights and deep conversation. At some point that neither of them could exactly recall when, the relationship transitioned from support to fully sexual.

Cynthia and Kevin have been having consistent sex for almost two years.

"I can't believe this," Peter said in shock. His best friend was fucking his own stepmother. Almost forgotten in his mind was the fact that he too had been having sex with the same woman.

"We have a special bond," Cynthia said in a delicate way. She was very aware of the sensitive situation unfolding. "As do we," she assured Peter.

The two went on to share how Kevin ultimately found out about Cynthia and Peter. It was not very difficult according to his detail.

"She stared at it, dude," Kevin said, referring to Cynthia's first discovery of Peter's special gift. "I knew that look. Because she looked at mine the same way," he said, eyeing Cynthia. She blushed. Kevin laughed and turned to Peter. "Did you know she's obsessed with big dicks?"

All three laughed, before the seriousness of the situation returned. "Guys, I need to say something," Cynthia said. "I'm so, so, sorry for what happened. There's no denying this is my fault. I just don't want anyone to be hurt."

"It's my fault," Peter interjected. "This is my fault. I didn't know about you two. I let my stupid horny ass ruin everything. I should go. I don't want to wreck this whole thing."

Peter stood up, but Cynthia motioned for him to stop. "Peter, no. That's not what we want."

"She's right, man. Have a seat. There's a solution here."

Peter cautiously sat down. First, he felt like a home-wrecker and now he was a third wheel. "What?" he asked.

Cynthia smiled. "We can still have fun." She turned to Kevin. "All of us."

"All of us?" Peter asked, to which Cynthia excitedly nodded. "Yes, Peter. That is, if you're up to it. Kevin and I discussed and we're open to being... well... open."

"So you're just gonna sleep with both of us?"

"Yeah man," Kevin said. He was still unsure if Peter was going to be on board with this.

"At the same time?" Peter asked.

"Yes! And separately. Whatever the moment calls for," Cynthia said as she poured another glass of wine. "The point is, we can all co-exist and no one's feelings will be hurt."

Peter ran his fingers in his hair, flabbergasted with the strange proposal. How did it come to this? First, he's fucking his best friend's stepmother and now they're proposing an open relationship and threesomes. He couldn't help but nervously laugh. "Oh man," he said. "I dunno about that."

The group spent the next thirty minutes discussing what the potential arrangement would look like. Peter gradually became more comfortable with at least trying it. His biggest issue was hurting one of them and his second biggest issue was being naked and sexual around his best friend. That part scared him probably more than anything.

There was one simple rule they all decided on. "If anyone gets hurt, we stop. All of us. It's over. Do I make myself clear?" Cynthia said with authority, directly addressing Peter's primary concern. Both boys nodded in agreement. It was a fair ask.

"Good. Now, why don't we all go take a dip in the hot tub. Let's all go naked so we can feel a little more comfortable, ok?"

Kevin stood up and began to unbutton his jeans.

"Wait," said Peter. "What about Frank?"

The subject of Frank had not been brought up in much detail. Cynthia had a habit of moving on from that topic sooner than later. "He's away for a week," she said, not directly addressing the bigger issue, but instead assuring Peter he wouldn't catch them. For now, that will have to do.

--------------------------

The group continued their chat in the hot tub, transitioning away from the deeper topics and instead having a light-hearted conversation. Like one would be amongst any group of friends. Peter only saw Kevin naked for a brief moment as he slid into the hot tub. Knowing that Cynthia has an appreciation for larger penises, he wondered if Kevin was equipped like he was. In conversation, Kevin often joked about being small, but Peter assumed that was not true.

"So, Kev. Does this arrangement mean you've got what I have under there?" he asked, attempting to make light of the situation.

Cynthia beamed with excitement now that the two were getting more comfortable. Her nipples hardened as she sat with them entirely exposed above the surface of the water. It was hard for the boys not to look at them repeatedly.

"Fuck no man. Yours is fucking huge," Kevin laughed. "Trust me, I've heard the stories."

"From who?"

"Who do you think?" Kevin asked as Cynthia raised her hand as if to say 'Guilty.'

"Jesus," Peter shook his head. "Nothing stays secret around here."

The group had managed to move on from the deep and telling conversation from earlier and were now having a great time. Casual conversation about their naked bodies was flowing easily. Peter allowed himself to relax and was becoming more and more aroused at the idea of being with Cynthia again. Even with Kevin there too.

"Show him," Cynthia said. "Kevin has a nice one too. Are you hard, honey?"

Kevin stood up, out of the water, revealing that he did indeed have an erection. He turned to the side and held it by the base. "Seven inches proud."

Unsure how to react, Peter awkwardly looked at his friend's dick and nodded. "Nice," he said, quickly determining that sounded weird. He laughed at himself.

"Nice, indeed," said Cynthia. "You both have such beautiful penises. What about you, Peter? Are you hard yet?"

Peter fondled his soft cock under the water. "I can get there."

To help, Cynthia beckoned Kevin to come over to her. He climbed up out of the water and walked around the tub deck to where she was. His firm cock swayed with each step. Cynthia hoisted herself up further out of the water, so that only her legs were submerged. She sat on the deck and reached up, taking hold of Kevin's aching dick.

"See if this helps," she said, looking at Peter as she inserted Kevin's cock into her mouth. She sucked and stroked him while Peter watched, playing with himself underwater. "Whoa," he said.

Cynthia couldn't deep throat Kevin, just like she couldn't Peter, but she made a very valiant effort. Nearly five inches of his hard shaft filled her mouth. She fondled his drooping balls as gurgling sounds escaped from the depths of her throat. Peter noticed Kevin's balls were even bigger than his.

"Oh fuck, that's good," said Kevin. "That's fucking so good, Cynthia."

It was bizarre to watch her suck Kevin off. In that moment, Kevin was no longer a person he had known almost his whole life. He was no longer a brother to him. Peter was starting to be able to compartmentalize his relationship with Kevin and remove boundaries. His cock started to throb underwater as he watched the blowjob.

Cynthia was an expert. With her eyes closed, she slid up and down the big cock. Her boobs bounced back and forth as Kevin helped himself to a handful every once in a while. She had her legs now up and out of the water. Her toes curled with excitement. Peter imagined her pussy to be soaking wet as it was out of his view at that moment.

"Holy fuck!" Kevin suddenly said. He had turned his attention towards Peter.

Cynthia popped his cock out of her mouth to look and see. They each marveled at the sight. Peter's hardened dick was so big, it was sticking out of the water. All that was visible was the bloated head and some of the thick shaft.

"My God," said Kevin in shock. "That thing gets huge, huh?"

"Stand up sweetie. Show him the whole thing," Cynthia instructed.

Peter hoisted himself up so he was sitting on the edge of the hot tub. He proudly jerked his big cock once for all to see. It was so big, it stretched up past his belly button. He then cupped his big hanging balls, letting them drop back down again. It was truly an impressive scene.

"Ok, fuck. I think I'm gonna rethink our arrangement," Kevin said, facetiously. Peter responded by playfully wagging his cock in Kevin's direction.

"Wait till you see it shoot," Cynthia said.

"Of course, he's a shooter." Kevin said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I've been known to sling a few ropes, yes," Peter said as he continued to stroke his cock.

"Sling a few ropes. What are you, a cowboy?" Kevin poked fun at Peter's corny line. He then looked back down as Cynthia continued to suck his cock. She now did it with more ferocity and passion. Kevin responded by holding his hands behind his back and lightly thrusting. "Oh God, that's it," he said.

Peter felt more comfortable now. With Cynthia occupied and Kevin in the zone, he snuck out of the tub and walked over to them. Kevin winked at him as he approached them. Peter began to stroke his cock as he stood next to his pal. Cynthia had her eyes closed but could tell he had arrived. She reached up and stroked Peter's cock while not skipping a beat with Kevin.

"I could cum like this," he declared. "It feels so good."

"Looks it," Peter said. His own cock was starting to feel overly sensitive as Cynthia expertly stroked it.

Cynthia then popped Kevin's cock out of her mouth and glared up at the two of them. "Can someone please fuck me before you cum?"

Taking charge, Kevin helped Cynthia to her feet before he spun her around. He played with his cock between her ass crack, running it up and down the gap. He even playfully poked her asshole with his cock head to which she responded with a slap. "Easy, big boy," she warned.

Cynthia then bent over, reaching for her toes. Kevin immediately slid his cock deep into her pussy. She moaned loudly from the initial penetration. "Mmmmm God, Kev," she said. "You're so deep in me."

Kevin braced his legs and began to thrust. He plowed his hard cock deep inside his stepmother, grunting with every movement. He was rougher than Peter, who always took his time. Perhaps it was because of his larger size and fearfulness he would hurt her. Kevin took a different approach. He fucked Cynthia with passion and force.

As Peter jerked off watching, he wondered if Cynthia preferred this type of sex. All of a sudden, he felt unsure of himself, something he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Oh God, you're so fucking tight. Mmmm fuck you feel good," Kevin said. The sound of his bulbous balls slapping against her ass could be heard by all.

"Oh! Fuck! Fuck! Right there, Kev! Keep going! You're gonna make me cum!"

Peter was excited watching. He even felt he would nut soon. At that moment, Kevin went down to his knees as did Cynthia. This created an opportunity for Peter to get involved. He walked over and joined them, lowering to his knees in front of Cynthia. She took his cock into her mouth immediately.

Kevin and Peter made eye contact. They smiled at one another. Like two pals telling a joke. Kevin was the first to extend his hand. Peter slapped him high-five.

With a mouth full of Peter's cock and a pussy getting impaled by Kevin, Cynthia came easily. Her orgasm that night was like many others. Loud and involved. She took a break from sucking Peter's dick as her moans took over. She closed her eyes and screamed at the ground while Kevin planted his cock the deepest it had been all night.

Peter watched intently. He loved seeing Cynthia cum. She was so beautiful at that moment. He clutched his cock, desperate for release himself. Seeing Cynthia in that state, enjoying so much pleasure from her own stepson, Peter's best friend, was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Oh shit," he announced as he squeezed his cock. He was trying his best to hold off, but it was a losing battle.

Kevin surprisingly had the best view. He watched Peter try and stave off an orgasm to no avail. Peter's mouth formed a circle as he unloaded a thick rope of white cum across Cynthia's back. It was easily a two foot, unbroken rope directly across her muscular surface.

It stretched so far, it reached her ass crack, dangerously close to where Kevin was thrusting. He looked up in horror, afraid the next one was coming for him.

But Peter turned just in time as he sprayed his next shots into the water of the hot tub. "Ohhh!" he moaned loudly, somewhat embarrassed to make that sound in front of his friend. "Ahh shit!" he screamed in pleasure.

Cynthia's orgasm had subsided and she now looked up to watch Peter cum. "Good boy, Peter. Let it out. You're such a good boy. I bet that feels so good."

"Holy shit, man," Kevin also commented. "You're getting it past the entire hot tub."

"Yeah this is a whole lot," Peter said in a strained voice as he was still going. Cum shot out towards the tub and residual drops bounced off his cock onto Cynthia and the deck. "Oh fuck," he said.

Cynthia laughed as the ninth and final cumshot dropped to the ground. Peter, completely spent and out of breath, stepped back, nearly falling over as he held onto his aching cock. "I told you!" she said. "Look at all that!"

"It's all up your back," Kevin said. He had not stopped fucking Cynthia the entire time Peter orgasmed. In fact, he had decided to wait until Peter was done before he would release his own cumshot. "Ok, Cynthia," he tapped her on the back. "You ready for another load?"

"Give me your cum, honey," Cynthia said as she spun around and knelt in front of Kevin. Instinctively, she reached for Peter's cock and pulled him near. Despite having just ejaculated, he was still hard as per usual. She stroked Peter while Kevin braced for orgasm.

"Argghhh!" Kevin groaned as he stopped closer. His cock was only a few inches from Cynthia's wide open, waiting mouth. Unlike Peter, he wasn't normally a shooter. So he stood on his tippy toes as he angled his cock head directly over Cynthia's mouth.

He then deposited thick loads into her mouth as he moaned. At least four healthy shots made it into her mouth with a fifth straggler dangling from his tip. He used his hand to help get it in.

Peter found himself looking at Kevin as he orgasmed, albeit very briefly. It was an expression he never imagined seeing from his friend. A moment normally reserved for very private settings and not meant to be shared with friends.

Cynthia then took Kevin's cock into her mouth and sucked it dry, ensuring she got every drop of his seed. She removed it and turned to Peter. Without saying anything she took his cock into her mouth as well. The warm sensation of her saliva mixed with his friend's recently deposited load was incredible. Peter didn't even care that it wasn't his cum. It felt amazing.

She popped it out and smiled at the two of them while stroking their dicks. She then swallowed the entire load, opening her mouth wide to show them she had done so.

"We did it," she said as she continued to sensually stroke them.

"We did it," Kevin agreed. They turned to Peter.

Peter smiled. "We did it," he echoed.


“Chat Noir,” Marinette says through a yawn. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Chat asks, ears momentarily drooping, despite the excited grin he has on his face.

Marinette rubs her tired eyes before fully climbing through the trapdoor to the balcony, careful to close it behind her with a quiet click. She’s met with the chilly air of a Parisian night, and suddenly her pink pajama set isn’t quite enough to keep her completely warm.

But, she enjoys the cool breeze against her skin nonetheless.

“I’m not going to lie and say you didn’t,” she tells him with a shrug, “but since I’m up now you might as well tell me why you’re here at midnight.”

He scratches the back of his head awkwardly, before clearing his throat and perching himself on her railing, just like he did the last time he was here, before the Glaciator had attacked.

“I needed to tell someone,” Chat replies, “and after going through all my options I concluded that you were the best person to tell.”

She raises a questioning brow at the superhero, starting to feel slightly uneasy about what he has to say. Marinette wonders why he can’t tell Ladybug whatever it is he’s hiding, given that they are in fact, partners.

“And what exactly are you needing to tell me?” Marinette asks, nervously tapping her bare foot against the ground.

“Remember the last time I was here?” Chat questions, and she responds with a swift nod. “Well, it’s related to what we talked about last time.”

Her face scrunches up. “What we talked about last time?”

Suddenly, a lovesick grin appears on his face and Marinette is blinded by it.

“Oh!” Marinette shouts a little too loudly for this hour. “You wanna talk about—about Ladybug?”

Chat blushes, but nods at her with the pink blossoming from under his mask. It’s hard to see with a majority of his face covered, but it’s there.

Marinette is unsure how she feels about this. On one hand, she thinks it’s kinda adorable that Chat gets all lovesick talking about her, and on the other she thinks the irony of her being the only confidante to hear about... herself, is weird and maybe a little bit conflicting. But, he looks like he’s about to explode if he doesn’t say something to someone soon, and she figures she’s the best person to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid around her, or, Ladybug.

”Is that okay?” Chat Noir inquires softly, looking suddenly insecure about his plan.

Marinette hates it when he looks like that. “Yes! Of course it’s okay Chat, I’m all ears.”

The smile he gives her in return makes the discomfort of the situation worth it for now, she decides.

”I kissed her cheek!” Chat announces happily, looking happier than she’s ever seen him. “And I gave her a rose and she actually blushed! Like, her cheeks were pink and everything and it was just—just amazing being there with her in that moment. I can’t describe how happy I was for that brief moment!”

Marinette laughs. “Wow, that’s awesome for you Chat. I’m glad you’re happy.”

His happiness starts to turn into disappointment right before her eyes. “Well, I was happy. But... she’s in love with someone else.”

The designer winces, forgetting that that part of the conversation had happened with Chat Noir too.

“It happened after the Glaciator was defeated, actually. The same day I came to see you, so it’s been a couple days since I’ve processed this information, and it still hurts just as much.”

Marinette feels her stomach twist instead into knots as he speaks. She hates hurting Chat, but she can’t give up on Adrien.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, reaching forward to place a hand comfortingly on his arm. “I’m sure she cares about you very much, Chat Noir.”

He smiles wryly. “I know she does, just not in the way I wish she did.”

”We can’t help the way we feel,” Marinette says with a shake of her head.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “but I was thinking that maybe I could get her to finally understand how much I really love her. At least... one more time.”

The baker’s daughter freezes. “W-What do you mean?”

Chat takes in a deep breath, before a determined look settles in his green eyes. “I’m gonna try to lay out all my cards, one last time, before I give up on her.”

”How so?” Marinette’s voice is barely a whisper at this point, and she has a bad feeling about this.

Chat Noir moves from the railing to the ground, smiling proudly. ”I’m going to confess, and say everything I’ve always wanted to say to her, and maybe she’ll understand how I am truly and fully in love with her and maybe she’ll choose me.”

No... she won’t, Marinette thinks to herself, internally screaming at this cat boy that is reckless because of his love for her superhero persona.

”And if she doesn’t?” Marinette asks tentatively.

The blonde sighs. “If she doesn’t then I’m going to respect her wishes and stop pursuing her.”

Marinette blinks. So, if she just rejects Chat one more time he’ll stop pining for her? Sounds simple enough... except she hates hurting him more than anything. But, as long as she can let him down gently, their friendship can be preserved and romance will no longer affect their partnership.

“Well, good luck with that!” Marinette chirps, offering two thumbs up to her partner.

”Thank you, Marinette,” he responds, “for everything you’ve done for me.”

“I’ve hardly done anything,” she argues, “just listened to you talk.”

Chat rolls his eyes. “And that’s more than most people do for me, so seriously, thank you.”

”Oh,” her voice says, a little saddened by the thought of Chat not having people to go to. “You’re always welcome to stop by if you need someone to listen.”

A part of her feels so stupid for saying that, it’s dangerous and could jeopardize her identity or his. They aren’t supposed to know too much about each other and here she is offering him a place to spill all his personal details. But, when he wraps her in a hug and whispers thank you ten times in her ear she can’t find it in herself to really care.

Though it certainly won’t make rejecting him any easier...

”Maybe you can help me!” Chat Noir shouts suddenly, pulling away from the hug. “You’re a girl right?”

Marinette gives him a look.

“I mean,” he backpedals, “I know you are, I just meant you know how girls think so you could help me with my confession.”

“I—what?!” Marinette yells.

“Think about it! If I practice confessing to you, you can tell me what I need to fix so that Ladybug will like it!”

“Chat, I don’t think that’s—“

“Please?” Chat Noir begs. “This is my last ditch attempt and I really want it to be perfect for her.”

Marinette hates the brokenness of his tone, and against her better judgment she actually considers saying yes. Tikki will scold her, Marinette will scold herself later.

But...

”Okay,” she finds herself saying. Despite how incredibly dumb this is, she can’t deny her partner this. Not when she’s hurt him so many times in the past. It can’t be too hard, she hears him flirt with her all the time anyway. It’ll just be like that, and then once he confesses it’ll all be over and they can go back to their normal friendship.

Right?

”Oh thank you so much Marinette!” Chat says with glee, picking her up and spinning her around before she can even react. “You’re the best! You’re an angel! A princess!”

“Woah, okay I mean I wouldn’t go that far—ah!” Marinette cuts herself off when Chat’s spinning comes to a sudden halt.

“I’ll let you get some sleep now,” he says as he puts her back down. “Thanks again.”

And before she can say goodnight, he launches himself away, practically skipping across rooftops and it’s nice to know she made him that happy.

The underlying feeling of knowing she’ll also be the one to take that happiness away hurts more than she wants it to.

Marinette will worry about that later.

When she has to.


Lúcio’s knee was bouncing up and down as he and Pharah sat across from each other in the Orca.

“Nervous?” said Pharah, folding her arms.

Lúcio took off one ear of his headphones. “What?” his knee stopped bobbing.

Pharah smirked. “Never mind,” she said.

 Lúcio glanced out the window of the Orca and shuddered a little at the gleaming white city below.

“You are nervous,” said Pharah, leaning forward.

“Eh, this place just always creeped me out when I had concerts here,” said Lúcio, “I mean any place called ‘Utopaea’ has got to have some messed-up stuff under the surface.” He glanced back out the window, “I mean even from here it’s like…It’s too clean. It’s too bright.”

“Well most of it is hard-light constructs,” said Pharah.

“So who are we supposed to be picking up again?” D.Va piped up, glancing up from the game she was playing using her MEKA’s projection screen.

“Satya Vaswani,” said Pharah, picking up a tablet and scrolling through it, “And we aren’t really picking her up, just making sure she has some security on her flight to Oasis.”

“Wait–Vaswani?” said Lúcio leaning forward.

Pharah turned the tablet around to show Lúcio the photo of her.

“Symmetra,” said Lúcio, his brow furrowing.

“Sym–what?” said Pharah.

“That’s like, her supervillain name,” said Lúcio glancing up from the tablet.

“Her what?” Pharah sat back in her seat, “Lúcio–She’s an architech.”

“Obviously you’ve never met her,” said Lúcio. He looked thoughtful, “I should probably just hang back and make sure the perimeter’s safe. She uhhh…probably won’t accept our help if she sees me.”

“Wait-wait-You’ve met her before?”

“Well… to use the term ‘met’ loosely…” said Lúcio, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She tried to stop him when he was taking back some tech that Vishkar stole,” said D.Va.

Pharah’s eyes widened. “You didn’t think to mention this at the briefing?”

“I wasn’t at the briefing,” said Lúcio, shrugging, “I’m only here because you needed someone to–”

“To fill in for Doctor Ziegler, yes,” said Pharah. She glanced down.

“Reaper really did a number on her, huh?” said Lúcio.

“She’ll recover. And it’s important for you to get out in the field,” said Pharah.

Lúcio huffed a little, “It’s okay, y’know?” he said, “I know you’re more used to her as your medic. Look, if we had time for her to give me a whole tutorial on how to use that Valkyrie suit of hers, I’d probably be wearing it right now and looking amazing.”

Pharah snorted. “According to your last mission report, you can handle yourself just fine in those hard-light skates.”

“Well I don’t like to brag,” said Lúcio, interlacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back.

“Yes you do,” said D.Va.

“Okay yeah, little bit,” said Lúcio, smirking.

“Preparing to land in Utopaea,” Athena announced.

“Look sharp,” said Pharah, putting her helmet on

–

It was a bit of a wonder how anyone knew their way around Utopaea. Rather than simple stoplights, entire sections of the streets would dematerialize with perpendicular roads materializing in their place. It hadn’t been as bad from the Orca but down on the street levels it was almost blindingly white. There were also walkways stretching overhead that would shift, change direction, sometimes dematerialize altogether. It didn’t take long for the team to realize that these shifts in walkways and vehicular byways were automatic, though there was an architech here and there gesturing at a building or street utility to shift its location or design. In a sense it was a city constantly tweaking and perfecting itself, and the people who lived there just rolled with these updates accordingly.

“I dunno how anyone can know what’s going on with Vishkar changing everything around here all the time,” muttered Lúcio.

“I dunno,” said D.Va shrugging, “I kind of wish we could build stuff this fast in Busan.”

“Well yeah, Vishkar wants you to want that. It’s how they get in,” said Lúcio, pocketing his hands, “Good luck trying to get them out though, and saying no to them? You don’t want to see Vishkar when someone’s said ‘No’ to it.”

“Try and stay focused on the mission,” said Pharah, walking ahead of them.

They reached a large apartment building with several walkways materializing and dematerializing against it at different levels.

“You two,” Pharah glanced over her shoulder at D.Va and Lúcio, “Maintain the perimeter. I’ll go check on the architech.”

Glancing at the mission specs on her comm, Pharah stepped into an elevator which shot up numerous floors and exited out at the top level. She stepped out of the elevator and walked down a gleaming white hall to a door. She knocked on it, “Miss Vaswani?”

Several small spherical objects affixed to above and alongside of the door suddenly sprang to life and fixed on her, glowing bright blue and humming a bit menacingly.

“Identify yourself,” a voice came from the other side of the door.

Pharah nearly grabbed for her sidearm but calmed herself and turned her attention to the door. “My name is Fareeha Amari. You were told Overwatch would come to protect you.”

“And how do I know you’re with Overwatch?” the voice was clipped, yet still somehow melodic, aristocratic almost.

The passphrase, Pharah realized, I had a passphrase. She grabbed at her comm and quickly looked through it for the passphrase until she found it. “Laiṭlu āph ceyyaḍāniki,” she said, reading off of her comm.

There was a pause and spheres affixed around the door stopped humming and their glow faded. “Your accent is terrible,” the voice came from the other side of the door and the door opened.

Pictures in newspapers and dossiers had not done her justice. Maybe it was just the way everything was far too bright in Utopaea, but Satya Vaswani in the flesh was breathtaking, if not a bit intimidating. She held some kind of three-pronged object at the ready like it was a gun. “I’m not leaving the door open,” said Symmetra, “Come in quickly.”

Pharah stepped over the threshhold and into the almost unsettlingly neat and clean apartment. She looked around for possible bugs or listening devices, but only found spherical objects identical to the ones that had been posted outside, hanging at various angles and on different walls and in corners. She looked over at Symmetra, who was looking at her intently. “Hi,” Pharah blurted out, then caught herself and saluted, “Greetings,” she said, straightening up and saluting. “I’m Faree—”

“You have already given me your name,” said Symmetra, folding her arms.

“Right–” said Pharah, “Right…”

“I will tell you what I told your ‘Nīḍa,’” Symmetra spoke the name as if Pharah would know who she was talking about, “I have no interest in associating with an organization that is renegade at best, criminal at worst. I am perfectly capable of defending myself. You can report back to your superiors and tell them I have no need for their big, barbaric…” she gestured up and down at Pharah, apparently searching for a word for her that wasn’t insulting, “…enforcers.”

“Barbaric?” Pharah put her hands on her hips “Look, I don’t know who this  ‘Nīḍa’ is, but according to our intel, Talon put a hit out on you, and word is, Vishkar’s no longer protecting you. Overwatch is sworn to stop Talon on every front.”

“Oh well they did an excellent job of it 5 years ago,” said Symmetra, rolling her eyes before furrowing her brows at Pharah, “Nīḍa said they were your friend,” she glanced off, “Or Overwatch’s friend at least.”

Pharah paused, “Is… Nīḍa the reason you’re leaving Vishkar?”

“I make my own decisions,” said Symmetra, frowning, “But I will say thanks to certain… revelations by Nīḍa, I have made the decision to leave Vishkar.”

“Okay,” said Pharah, “Well–Look, if Vishkar isn’t protecting you, just let us—”

“Pharah?” D.Va’s voice came over the comm, “We’ve got company.”

“Evacuate the civilians,” said Pharah, “We’ll be right down.”

“’We?’” repeated Symmetra.

“Yes, ‘We,’” said Pharah, “I’m getting you out of here.”

“I have countless sentry turrets up in this building for just this occasion,” said Symmetra as a red dot appeared on her shoulder and started trailing up her neck, “I do not require your—”

Pharah suddenly tackled her to the ground as sniper fire hit the wall right behind where her head had been. Rather than shatter, the window of the apartment, which was made of hard light, dematerialized.

“What was—” Symmetra started.

“Sniper,” said Pharah, “We need to get you out of here. Please come with me.”

Symmetra pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. “Very well,” she said in a slight huff.

“Come on!” said Pharah, grabbing her wrist, “And keep your head down!”

Symmetra was still gripping her photon projector as Pharah ran low across the floor of the apartment, gripping her wrist.

“Wait–” said Symmetra as they reached the dematerialized window and Pharah took her around the waist, “What are you—”

Pharah leapt. Symmetra screamed. They free-fell for 16 stories, sniper fire whizzing past their heads, before Pharah activated her jump-rockets and stabilizers and recovered in mid-air, still holding Symmetra.

“Are you all right?” said Pharah, descending.

“You expect me to answer ‘yes’ after that!?” said Symmetra.

“Are you shot?!” Pharah snapped at her.

“No, I’m not shot!” Symmetra snapped back. Another round of sniper fire barely missed Symmetra’s head.

“Cover your ears,” said Pharah, taking out her rocket launcher.

“Don’t drop me,” said Symmetra, taking her arms off from around Pharah’s waist to cover her ears.

“I won’t,” Pharah fired her rocket launcher in the direction of the sniper fire.

–

“Merde,” said Widowmaker as she saw the rocket hurtling toward her. She grappled away just in time to see her perch blown to bits behind her. When she was able to reposition herself, she brought the scope up to her eye only to see both the target and her apparent rescuer dodge out of sight into the interior of the building. She put a hand to her ear. “Reaper,” she spoke, “I’ve lost visual contact on the target. It’s up to you.”

“I have to do everything around here,” Reaper muttered over the comm.

Widowmaker scoffed. “So dramatic,” she said, turning the comm off.

–

Symmetra was shaking a bit as they ran into the garage of the apartment building, but was still managing to set up several small sentry turrets on different support pillars.

“We’re on our way to your location!” Lúcio spoke over the comm, “Oh–Visual contact–”

“Great, we could really use D.Va’s…” Pharah glanced up away from Symmetra and turned on her heel to see Lúcio skating up toward them with a barely-conscious and worse-for-wear-looking D.Va riding piggyback on him, “…MEKA…” Pharah stepped toward them and looked at the scratches, bruises, and scorch marks on D.Va, “Talon–?”

“Taken care of,” said Lúcio, he forced a smile and looked at D.Va, “Thanks to D.Va here!”

“So what…?” Pharah looked at D.Va.

“Got clipped by my own self-destruct sequence,” said D.Va, pressing her face into Lúcio’s shoulder, “Scrub move.”

“You did great,” said Lúcio, smiling at her.

“Dos Santos?” Symmetra spoke up and Lúcio glanced up from D.Va.

“It is you,” said Symmetra, her brow furrowing.

Lúcio was silent for an awkward gap of time before giving her a small wave, “Uh…hi.”

Symmetra turned and looked at Pharah, “Overwatch is associated with this–this–ruffian?”

“Yeah, also he’s right here,” said Lúcio.

Symmetra’s mouth drew to a thin angry line and she started pacing back and forth. “So assassins are after me, my only means of rescue is association with–” she gestured angrily at Pharah, Lúcio, and D.Va, “With you!”

“We can leave if you want,” said Lúcio, furrowing his brow, “You’re welcome to deal with these guys on your own.”

“We’re not doing that!” snapped Pharah. She glanced over at Symmetra, “Do you know another way out of this garage?”

Symmetra thought. “Do you have transport nearby? I could open a teleporter on it.”

“The Orca,” said Pharah. She tossed Symmetra her comm. “Its coordinates are on here.”

Symmetra looked at the coordinates and nodded, then brought up a projection out of her prosthetic hand and dialed some of the new coordinates into it. There was the sound of gunfire and suddenly a hologram of one of Symmetra’s sentry turrets appeared out of her prosthetic. “Intruder detected,” said Symmetra.

“Just get the teleporter set up!” said Pharah. Symmetra nodded and drew up a projection of the teleporter. Her prosthetic flashed a red light again. “Sentry turret destroyed,” she said.

“Just–” said Pharah. But with a flourish of her hand, Symmetra set the teleporter up.

“You–” Pharah pointed to Lucio, “Get D.Va out of here.”

“But—-” Lúcio started.

“That’s an order,” said Pharah, “I’ll be right behind you.”

Lúcio nodded and headed through the teleporter with D.Va on his back.

“Miss Vaswani—” Pharah glanced up to see Symmetra setting up a few more sentry turrets, “You need to go,” said Pharah.

“I know,” said Symmetra, setting up the last few sentry turrets, “I’ll see you on the other side,” she said, before disappearing into the teleporter.

Just as Symmetra disappeared into it, Pharah moved to go through it as well but there was the sound of gunfire and the Teleporter collapsed and dematerialized. Pharah turned on her heel. “I could use another teleporter,” she said into her comm.

“My prosthetic needs time to generate enough hard-light to make a sustainable path,” Symmetra replied, “I’ll have one up as soon as I can.”

“Nice armor,” said Reaper.

Pharah’s brow furrowed and she aimed her rocket launcher at him. Reaper glanced up at the low ceiling, “So… the wings won’t do you much good here. Plus I don’t think that thing will serve you too well in close quart—”

Pharah blasted forward with her raptora wings and delivered a swift kick to Reaper in the gut. Reaper slammed into one of the cars in the garage and grunted.

“That was from Genji,” said Pharah, “For Volskaya.”

Reaper lifted his gun at Pharah and Pharah seized it by the barrel and punched him in the face as she wrenched it from his hand. and smacked him across the face with it and threw it off to the side.

“Let me guess,” Reaper rasped, “That was from Doctor Ziegler?”

“No. Me,” said Pharah. She moved to punch him again but it was then that Reaper managed to block her strike with one arm and get a shot from his other gun in with the other. The blast clipped her, catching most of her helmet and shoulder and knocking her back. She grunted on the ground and then gripped the edge of her helmet. It broke away easily and she rolled over to her knees and coughed, feeling blood running down the side of her face. She found herself staring down the barrel of his gun. She looked up at him and he hesitated.

“Ana?” the name fell out of him and then he quickly caught himself, “No–” he aimed the gun at her again, but she swiped his legs out from under him and caught him with a rocket-boosted uppercut, thrusting him upward where she moved to kick him in the torso again but he turned to smoke and her leg phased through him. She caught another shotgun blast, in the chest this time.

“Raptora structural integrity compromised,” the voice of the armor automatically sounded off in her earpiece, “Retreat and repair.”

Pharah grunted and moved to get up but Reaper put a boot on her chest and shoved her down to the ground. “Ana had no business dragging you into this,” said Reaper.

Pharah coughed. “My mother didn’t drag me into anything,” she replied, “Someone has to stop Talon. Someone has to stop you, Gabe.”

The name seemed to shake him, coming from her, but it didn’t stop him from pointing his gun at her. “Part of me almost wishes I taught you better,” he said. He pulled the trigger but his gun clicked empty. He snarled and tossed the gun aside.

“There was one thing you taught me,” said Pharah. She raised her arm. “Clearing the area,” she said, her brow furrowed. She fired a concussive rocket from her wrist. Reaper turned to smoke and it phased through him easily. He returned to physical form and pulled out another gun to aim at her when the concussive rocket hit the car behind him and detonated. Pharah covered her face as Reaper was sent flying over her into the wall behind them, where he was caught in the beams of several of Symmetra’s sentry turrets. A sound that wasn’t really human escaped him and he dissolved into a wisp of shadow and disappeared. Pharah flopped flat on the ground, panting as her Raptora armor continued beeping in alarm and going on about compromised structural integrity. She then heard the whirring, chiming sound of hard-light forming and glanced off to the side to see a teleporter opened up.

“Thank you, Satya,” she said softly.

She let out a huff of a laugh, a bit painfully, and struggled to her feet. Gripping her shoulder, she walked into the teleporter.