Swoon June Event!

Text book in hand, you knock on Cassandra’s door, and her housemaid, a small Italian woman named Gia answers. Gia knows you well, sidestepping to let you inside the grand entrance.

Cassandra’s family comes from money, is made of money, and her house screams money. You find her at the oak wood dining table, language textbooks strewn about.

“Ugh, I swear to god I am never going to be able to conquer this language.” Cassandra moans and you chuckle as you sit across from her.

“You will,” you reply. “We just have to keep at it.”

Cassandra pushes her blonde hair over one shoulder with a dramatic sigh, flopping back in her chair.

“You’re so good at this,” she complains, pointing at your textbook. “Like… effortlessly good.”

She leans forward suddenly, eyes lighting up.

“Oh my god, is Dex coming back soon?” She knows all about him now; you’ve talked about nothing else for weeks.

Before you can answer though, Gia appears again with two cups of espresso on a tray. Cassandra immediately grabs hers and blows on the steam while waiting for your response like it’s the most important news of the day.

“He’ll be home in a few days.” You reply, trying to suppress your smile.

Cassandra claps with glee. “Perfect! He’ll be back in time to come with us on Friday. Wait, what’s he do again?”

“He works in security, but what’s happening Friday?” You raise a brow. Cassandra wiggles her eyebrows.

“Just the biggest pre-summer party of Rome,” she hums and then rolls her eyes. “Dad’s making me bring some detail ever since that stupid raid but, they aren’t coming inside. They’ll just be driving us.”

While you and Cassandra had been gone, and her parents had been several countries over for a gala, Cassandra’s family’s house had been raided. You aren’t exactly sure what they took, but whatever it was must’ve been important, because ever since then Cassandra‘s father had been extremely strict with this detail.

“Did they ever catch who did it by the way?” You ask, opening your textbook. “The robbery?”

“Nah but we don’t think they ever will,” Cassandra shrugs. “Daddy’s been real hush hush about the whole thing so. I dunno.”

You skim down your book, finding this weeks vocabulary words. “Ready?”

When Dex clambers into his apartment, he’s tired to the bone. He drops his suitcase and nearly drags himself into the shower.

The mission had gone well enough, but he hadn’t been able to sleep well, and the exhaustion was settling over him.

The hot water of the shower does little to ease Dex’s fatigue.

He scrubs off two weeks worth of travel grime, airport floors, hotel beds, cheap takeout, and steps out with a towel around his waist. His apartment is small but clean; everything in its place as usual. He dresses quickly in sweatpants and an old t-shirt before flopping onto the couch.

For once though, he doesn’t immediately text you. Normally by now he would’ve called or messaged home safe, but exhaustion wins out for about twenty minutes where he just stares at the ceiling blankly. He finally grabs his phone from where it was charging on the coffee table and unlocks it to see your last messages.

Do you have plans Friday?

As far as he knows, he doesn’t, and he tells you as much. You text him back that Cassandra wants to go to a party, and you would really love it if he could join you.

Dex’s tired face softens when he reads your message.

He types back immediately, fingers moving quicker now that the fatigue is lifting at the thought of seeing you after so long.

Yeah, I’d love to. Then after a pause he adds: What time? And where?

The party sounds fun but honestly, he just wants to see you. Two weeks without touching you has been torture. He sits up straighter on the couch and rubs his eyes before typing out another text: I miss you. He stares at it for a few moments before deleting it all together.

You send him the details, and he hearts the message before he leans back on his bed, sprawling out.

He’s asleep in minutes.

-

You grumble at your closet like it has personally offended you. One would think with all of the clothing in your closet, you would find something suitable to wear, and yet here you are, unsure of them all. You know Cassandra will be dressed to the nines, with her hair done and makeup flawless, and you chew at a nail as you consider your options.

Your phone buzzes and you’re already smiling when you answer it “Hey Dex.”

“I’m downstairs, gorgeous.”

“I’ll ring you in.”

you hang up the phone and move into the front hallway, pressing on the monitor so that Dex can come up on his own. You known him a little over a month and yet you’re already wanting to get him a key to your place so that he can come and go as he pleases. You’re truly insane.

When he walks in, Dex is spiffy. He’s wearing a tailored white shirt with white buttons and dark slacks, a black watch on his wrist. You’re giddy when you greet him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You kiss him immediately, rising to your tip toes and he laughs against your mouth. His arms wrap around your waist, lifting you so that he can spin you around once.

“Hi handsome.” You murmur again his mouth when he sets you back down.

Dex grins like he hasn’t in weeks.

He kisses you back, hard and happy, his hands squeezing your hips before sliding up to frame your face.

“Hi,” he breathes between kisses.

God, you. The way you feel against him after two long weeks apart is better than any dream he had on the train ride home. His lips move to the corner of yours then down along your jawline before pressing a slow kiss right under your ear. He’s been waiting for this all afternoon, no, all day.

“You look nice,” you comment at his clothing, stepping back. “Ok you’re wearing white and black so honestly, anything in my closet might go.”

You move down the hall into your bedroom and he follows you. You open up your closet door, display the contents, and he sits on the edge of your mattress.

“I dunno what to wear,” you sigh. “ It’s definitely dress up attire, but I don’t know what dress up attire and I know Cassandra will look amazing so I need to be able to keep up.”

Dex studies your closet with a thoughtful expression.

His eyes land on a few options—a sleek black dress that would look stunning, a deep red one that’s more daring, and then there’s this flowy gold gown hanging toward the back.

“What about that?” He points to the gold dress, nudging it slightly so it swings into better light.

It catches his attention because it reminds him of Italian sunsets, something elegant but not overly formal. And knowing Cassandra? She’d probably wear something like this, too; expensive fabric in warm tones.

He stands up and pulls the hanger out gently before holding it up against you. You inspect the dress up and down and then you nod, taking it from him. “I’m trusting your judgment, Poindexter.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you make your way to the bathroom, shutting the door so you can change.

While you’re gone, Dex takes in your space. He likes being here, amongst your things and the items that make you you. The trinkets and perfumes and hidden treasures.

It’s you. Cozy and lived-in and full of personality.

He picks up one of your perfume bottles, something floral, and takes an absent sniff before setting it back down carefully where he found it.

A few minutes later when you emerge in your dress? Dex feels his blood heat.

The material is smooth, flowing over your skin and curves like water. It exposes your back, and you tied up your hair, which accentuates the column of your throat.

You look stunning, and he can’t stop staring.

“I take your silence as a you like it?” You laugh, and give the fabric a little shake. Dex stands, moving to you slowly before his hands brace on your shoulders, moving upwards until he’s cupping your jaw.

“You look beautiful.” He says softly. He sounds truly genuine, and the compliment makes your cheeks pink. You smile, grabbing hold of his wrist to press a quick kiss there.

“Thanks,” you hum, and step from his hold. “ Let me finish doing my make up and then we can go. I bet you, Cassandra’s already there, throwing back shots.”

Dex chuckles at that, imagining Cassandra already tipsy by the time you arrive.

He nods and leans against your dresser while you finish your makeup, eyeshadow, lipstick, whatever it is women do to look even more gorgeous, which seems impossible to him for you. The quiet intimacy of this isn’t lost on him; just watching you prepare in the mirror with soft focus.

When you’re done, you walk from your apartment hand in hand to the curb where your preordered Uber waits. Normally you wouldn’t take one, but the party is so far away and you want to drink, so an uber is the responsible thing.

Dex holds your hand the entire drive there, and when you arrive he opens the door for you. Lacing your fingers with his, it’s warm outside the mansion of the party, and you can already hear music coming from inside.

It’s border-lining chaos when you walk in.

There are so many people of varying degrees of intoxication, the music so loud that the furniture vibrates a little bit. You need a drink and you need one now.

Dex keeps a protective hand on the small of your back as you weave through the crowd.

The bass is pounding, and people are dancing everywhere, some already making out in corners or grinding against each other. He spots an open bar near the far wall and nudges you toward it, shouting over the music: “What do you want?”

You’ve got options, a cocktails with tiny umbrellas, beer bottles sweating condensation, rows of shot glasses lined up for taking. Cassandra isn’t anywhere in sight yet, probably because she’s definitely already drunk.

“Vodka soda!” You reply, and Dex leans over to the bartender. You watch him, taking in the way he stands and how he carries himself. Dex is handsome, at six foot with a head of blonde hair, he makes your heart stutter in your chest. The scar along he’s cheek that most would find intimidating, you know find endearing. You wonder if one day he’ll tell you how he got it.

Dex hands you your drink, along with a shot and you take it gratefully. Clinking your shot glasses, you both down them quickly, making your eyes water. Dex nods forward, and you follow his line of sight. Cassandra is across the room, a beer in one hand and a vape in the other. You weave your way through the crowd, and when she sees you, she practically shrieks.

Cassandra drops her beer, literally onto some random guy’s shoulder without a second thought and bolts toward you, arms outstretched.

“OH MY GOD!” she yells over the music, crashing into both of you for a tight hug that nearly knocks your drink over.

She pulls back to look at Dex with sparkling eyes before kissing his cheek loudly. “You’re here! You actually came!”

Then immediately turns her attention back to you: “Holy shit babe, you look stunning. Like seriously? Wow.”

Her face is flushed from drinking already; she’s clearly been at this party for hours.

“Sorry we’re late,” you smile tightly. “I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

“Well you look fantastic,” Cassandra beams, and then she gives Dex a smirk, patting his chest lightly. “And so does your man.”

Dex isn’t exactly a fan of the way Cassandra constantly touches him, but for you he’s willing to ignore it. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“Well of course!” She laughs. “Can’t have a party with my best friend!”

“What exactly are we celebrating?” You ask, and Cassandra raises her brows.

“Summer!”

“But we’re not students.”

Cassandra rolls her eyes. “We are taking Italian classes to speak better. That can count!”

You aren’t sure that’s how it works, but you decide not to argue. Cassandra grabs back her beer and raises it to her lips. “Let’s do a round of shots!”

Dex grimaces slightly at the shot idea, he’s not much of a drinker, but he nods anyway when Cassandra announces it.

She signals to some guy nearby, who immediately grabs a tray of tequila shots and brings them over.

“Bottoms up!” she cheers, already slamming hers back without hesitation. The burn is instant; her face scrunches before melting into a grin.

You pick yours up next, Dex following suit though slower, his first sip cautious as hell compared to your two-week separation fueling reckless energy. He missed you, not this. He just wants to be in a room where he can actually hear you speak. The alcohol hits fast in this crowded room with no AC.

You make idle conversations with Cassandra and her other friends, Dex standing by. He’s being such a trooper, pressing a kiss to your hair or shoulder every so often, making butterflies erupt in chest.

After nearly another hour of being nearly forced to drink, you lean to Cassandra’s ear so she can hear you.

“We’re gonna smoke outside,” you say, and she nods. “We’ll be back.”

Hand on his arm, Dex leads you through the throng of people, moving easily until you’re on the back patio. It’s large, fully furnished, and you welcome the cool air. Sitting on a metal chair, you prop your chin in your palm.

“Why do I even come to these things?” You mutter, half to Dex and half to yourself. “I don’t even really like parties.”

Dex sits next to you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours. He watches your face, the slight frown of annoyance, and understands immediately. You’re not having fun.

“You come because Cassandra loves them,” he says gently, reaching over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “and you’re a good friend to her.”

The patio is quieter out here; music muffled by walls and the hum of cicadas in the warm night air.

For a second, Dex just looks at you before leaning in and kissing you properly for what feels like the first time all night: slow and sweet with none of that party chaos around it. It’s soft compared to earlier when adrenaline fueled everything inside.

Your lashes flutter and when he pulls back it’s all to soon. You smile at him, eyes flicking down. “I’d much rather just be cuddled up with you at the apartment.”

Dex’s expression softens, his heart squeezing at your words.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Me too.”

He doesn’t want to really be at this party either, doesn’t care about shots or Cassandra’s friends, but the thought of curling up with you in your apartment sounds perfect. Just movies, takeout food, and holding each other. He sighs because leaving now would be rude to Cassandra after she invited you both.

“We can stay as long as you like.” he offers, and you nod.

Dex kisses you again, deeper this time, and slides his hand into yours. Your thigh presses against his as you turn to move closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. You’d never really been one for pda but it was Dex, handsome and tall Dex with his brooding eyes and those eyes were on you.

You pull back, your forehead brushing his and he breathes out. You blink at one another before you giggle, his mouth turning to a smile.

“Where have you been hiding?” You ask softly as your hands drop from his neck.

Dex’s smile fades just a little, that question hitting him differently than expected.

He swallows, looking down at your joined hands before meeting your eyes again.

“Nowhere,” he admits quietly. “Just…wandering.”

Which was true, he had been buried in missions and prep for months leading up to Italy, but it wasn’t the whole answer. There were also years of being too quiet, too reserved; avoiding women because they intimidated him or thought he was odd. Then you happened and now here he is, kissing you on some rich girl’s patio like this is normal for him. His thumb traces circles over your knuckles absently.

“Well I’m glad your wandering led you here.” you murmur, kissing his cheek before leaning back.

The back door opens and Cassandra staggers out, grinning wide. “Hey love birds!”

“Hi cass.” you snicker, and Dex rolls his eyes with only light annoyance, knowing the moment is over.

Cassandra sits across from you with a huff and she bats her eyes at Dex. “Can you get us another beer?”

“I don’t need one.” You say quickly but Cassandra insists, and Dex stands, offering you a smile.

“At your service.” He jokes, and Cassandra beams as he walks away.

“My god he is good looking,” she hums. “Is he…?”

Cassandra points to her crouch and you groan. “Cass I’m not telling you details of my sex life.”

“Oh come on! I tell you all my details,” she pouts, scooting forward. “Oh, did I tell you? My dad got more info on that burglary. Was some guy with like no first name? Mr. Charlie or Mr. Chee or something.”

You pause, straightening in your seat. “What do you mean?”

Cassandra shrugs, taking a sip of her beer. “Yeah, apparently there’s some new guy involved now? Daddy was pissed about it at dinner last night, said this ‘Mr. Charlie’ or whatever is making things complicated.”

She says it like she doesn’t fully understand the gravity; just repeating what she overheard.

But your stomach drops because… Charlie? She couldn’t mean Mr. Charles, right?

Dex has mentioned his missions before, how dangerous they can be, but you never realized just how close to home some of them might get. The night you had met Dex, was the night of the raid. The two are just coincidences, it’s not like Dex had approached you for a reason, like a mission…right?

The door swings open again as Dex returns with two fresh beers in hand, and holds them out to you.

“For you both.” He says, and you stand, feeling exposed.

“I-I think actually we should head out.”

“Already?” Cassandra whines and you nod, looking at Dex.

“Can you order us an uber?” You ask, and you’re not exactly panicked but you want to leave, now.

Dex picks up on your tone immediately, the tension in your voice, the way you’re standing like you need to bolt.

He doesn’t question it. Just nods and pulls out his phone, pulling up Uber without hesitation.

Cassandra pouts but knows better than to argue when her best friend sounds this serious.

“Okay…well have fun?” she offers weakly before taking another swig of beer.

Within minutes Dex’s phone buzzes, your ride is here. He stands again and reaches for your hand instinctively, lacing his fingers through yours as he leads you back inside toward the front door where a black car waits at the curb already idling.

You don’t speak the entire ride back to your apartment, just hold Dex’s hand as the outside world zooms by. When you fish out your keys, Dex clears his throat.

“You okay?” He asks, raising a brow and you open the door. “You seem…”

“I’m fine.” you say thinly, putting your purse down on the table so you can take off your shoes.

Dex watches you carefully as he kicks off his shoes by the door. He knows “fine” doesn’t mean fine. Not when your voice is that tight, not when you won’t look at him.

Shutting the door behind him, he follows you into the living room and sits on the couch while you head to your bedroom to change out of your dress.

The silence stretches uncomfortably.

When you come back in pajamas, Dex pats the space next to him silently: come here. You hesitate before moving and sitting beside him, folding your legs.

“Talk to me.” He says after a moment, and you chew at your bottom lip.

“The night we met,” you say in a thick tone. “You...came up to Cassandra. Not me, originally. Why?”

Dex feels his stomach plummets because oh. Oh no.

This is about the raid. It has to be. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair before turning to face you fully.

“I just happened to see her,” he says carefully, choosing words like landmines. “I just, wanted to talk to her. But she’s not…ah my type. And then I saw you and I just…”

“Dex,” you whisper, because something isn’t right. “You hate clubs. Loud music and alcohol. A club wouldn’t be your scene. So…why were you there?” You stand up, stepping away from him and you pace. “Why were you there, the night her house was raided?”

Dex’s jaw clenches. He hates this. Hates that you’re piecing it together, hates the way your voice shakes with suspicion.

The truth is messy, classified, and he can’t tell you everything without risking his job or you.

But lying to your face? He can’t do that either. So after a long silence, he stands too and walks over to stop your pacing by gently gripping both of your shoulders.

“I was working,” he admits quietly. “That night.”

“What do you mean you were working?” You whisper and his teeth hurt with how hard he’s clenching them. He says your name softly, and you blink at him.

“You…you’re very important to me,” he says in a low tone. “And I didn’t… mean for that to happen it was just supposed to be surveillance. I didn’t- I was just supposed to watch but then she was going to leave.” Your eyes grow wide and you take a step back, his hands falling from your shoulders. “Just let me explain.”

Surveillance. That word alone sends a chill down your spine.

Dex looks devastated, like he’s terrified you’re about to bolt or scream or never speak to him again. And honestly? You might.

He reaches for you slowly, palm up in surrender, but doesn’t grab.

“I was assigned,” he continues, voice steady despite the storm in his eyes. “To watch her and make sure she didn’t come home that night because of…I don’t know. I didn’t know who lived there. I didn’t even know her until I saw you both at the club. And then there was you.”

“What about me?” You scoff. “You just…followed me outside? Kissed me, got my number to keep us busy?”

“No,” he says immediately, voice breaking on the word. “God, no.” He shakes his head fiercely, eyes glassy with something close to hurt. “I didn’t plan any of that,” he insists. “Meeting you was- it just happened. I wasn’t supposed to get involved with anyone but…I kissed you because I wanted to. Because the second I saw your smile, that was it for me.”

His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out again but is afraid now, afraid this ruins everything between you two forever.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s a pain in your chest, and you rub your palm over it as your brows pinched. “This whole time, you never said a thing!”

Dex’s face crumples.

“I couldn’t,” he whispers. “It’s classified work. If I told you…they would’ve pulled me off immediately. And if they found out about us, they could use it against me.” His throat works as he swallows hard. “But that doesn’t mean I didn't want to tell you,” he adds desperately. “Every time we talked about my job or where I went, i wanted to say everything. But…I had orders.”

“You had orders, to spy on my friend, and then you work your way into her life through me,” you spit, and hurt settles heavy in your chest. “Are you recording us now? Gonna feed this back to your boss, tell them everything I say?”

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, horrified. “I’m not- I don’t record anything about you.” His hands come up again, open and pleading now. “Nothing we say or do is reported back to anyone. You’re the only thing I keep private.”

He takes a shaky step toward you but stops when your expression doesn't soften. “I love you,” he says rawly, and immediately winces because the timing is awful but it’s true and if this ends everything, he had to say it anyway. “I love you.” You stare at him, your sad expression turning to one of shock. Dex babbles now, shaking his head, his hand running through his hair. “I-I get obsessive and I do things wrong. I scare people, I can’t…connect? And then I met you and I just- I found it. That thing that I was always missing, the connection. With you it was so…simple.” He’s breathing hard as he looks up at you, his voice dropping. “You have no idea how easy it is to love you.”

Tears well in your eyes.

Because Dex, your sweet, nervous, obsessive Dex, is standing there looking wrecked because he loves you.

And maybe this whole situation is messy and confusing and terrifying…but the way his voice cracks when he says it? The raw honesty?

It undoes you.

Before either of you can overthink it further, you close the distance between you two in three quick steps, wrapping your arms around his neck as you hug him close.

Dex sags against you, his arms looping around your middle as he buries his face in your neck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You rub his back, squeezing your eyes shut as you hold him. “I know, I know.”

He clings to you like a lifeline, his breathing uneven against your skin.

The relief of being hugged, of not being pushed away after the confession, is almost overwhelming. Dex presses desperate little kisses along your shoulder and neck between whispered apologies, hands gripping the back of your shirt like he’s scared you’ll pull away. When he finally lifts his head to look at you again, his blue eyes are glossy with unshed tears. He searches yours for any sign of anger or rejection, but finds none. Just sadness, and he hates it. He surges downwards, pressing his mouth to yours in a desperate kiss.

You stumble, stepping back and pressing your fingers to your lips. “Dex…I..”

The kiss breaks and Dex freezes, panic flashing across his face at your hesitation.

He’s pushed too far, kissed you when you weren’t sure if it was okay, and now he regrets it instantly.

“Shit,” he murmurs, pulling back completely with hands raised like a surrender. “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have done that.”

You swallow thickly before you shake your head. “It’s okay, I just…I’m confused.” you step forward, your hands on his chest and his own rise up to ghost along your waist. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry.” He says again and he looks so defeated your heart hurts for him.

You shake your head, cupping his cheek in a soft touch. “Dex, I’m right here. Just breathe.”

You rise on your toes, and kiss his cheek. You move to the other, the movement slow, before you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He exhales, the air brushing across your lips and suddenly you’re kissing him fully, your mouth sliding across his with heavy devour.

It’s a mesh of teeth and tongue and Dex bends, reaching for your thighs. You jump into his arms, your legs around his waist and he walks you into the dark bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. The door clicks shut and Dex carries you the rest of the way to the bed, your lips never parting.

It’s messy, full of pent-up fear, and he kisses you like this is his last chance to prove everything: how much he loves you, how sorry he is. His hands grip your thighs as they wrap around him while his mouth moves hungrily over yours.

When your back hits the mattress softly? He hovers above for a second just looking down at you, breathless before diving back in again with another searing kiss.

You unbutton his shirt with shaking hands and he pulls at his slacks. Your sleep shorts find the floor and his fingers brush teasing strokes over your panties. You hum, kneeling up on the bed as he kisses you. His hands are in your hair before you move closer, slipping down your sides before you press your palms to the mattress, facing him on all fours.

Dex steps back, wipes at his mouth and lets out a low groan. “Headboard, face the headboard.”

You oblige, your forehead brushing the wood and Dex leans on the bed behind you, tugging down your panties slowly. You hear him moan, feel the matress dip and then you jump when his fingers trace your bare folds. You’re already wet, already needing him but he works you with his hand, pressing his index and middle finger to your clit, working small circles that make you cry out. The mattress dips again, and you hear the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped.

Dex strokes himself before he aligns, one hand on his cock the other on your lower back. When he presses in he goes slow, and you moan softly, your hair falling over one shoulder until he’s fully seated. His jaw is clenched tight with restraint as he sinks into you and the moan that escapes him vibrates through your whole body.

He gives you a second to adjust, fingers flexing against your lower back where his palm rests. Then slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in.

Each thrust is deep and controlled, no rushing tonight. This isn’t just about pleasure; it’s about reassurance. About reminding both of you of what you have.

His free hand slides up your spine to gather a fistful of hair easily at the nape of your neck, and pulls you up gently, his chest pressed to your back. He kisses your neck while his hips roll against yours again and again.

“Hold the headboard.” He murmurs into your ear before kissing just below it, and you obey, bracing your palms on the wood.

Dex exhales sharply at the sight, your body arched beautifully, hands gripping the headboard, and then his hips snap forward with more purpose. The pace shifts from slow and tender to something hungrier.

He braces one hand beside your hip for leverage while the other trails up your side, over your ribcage before cupping your breast through thin fabric. His thumb brushes over a peaked nipple just as he drives into you deeper than before.

A groan tears from his throat; this angle is perfect, he can feel everything. Every twitch of you around him, every hitched breath you take when he changes speed or pressure. He squeezes your hip before releasing his hold to slide his hand around your waist, between your thighs. You moan, his fingers pressing expert circles around your clit as his hips continue their movements. It’s all so much and not enough at the same time, and you twist your neck, your mouth searching for his.

Dex meets your mouth halfway, his lips crashing onto yours in a messy, open kiss. Teeth clash briefly before he soothes it with his tongue sliding against yours. His fingers never stop their teasing circles on your clit, and the dual sensation of being filled by him while his hand works you over is almost too much.

He breaks the kiss to pant against your lips, forehead resting on yours as his thrusts grow erratic.

The coil in your stomach tightens, you’re close, and Dex can feel it too; he nips at your bottom lip, his fingers pressing just a bit harder, and then your walls flutter around him. He nearly chokes at the sensation, but he doesn’t stop, his thrusts working you through it until you’re satiated, until your hands are weak on the headboard. His hips slow and then he pulls out all together, gripping your hips and flipping you so you’re on your back.

You let out a soft surprised gasp but spread your legs nonetheless and he’s back, filling you perfectly. He dips to kiss you, his lips wet as his hips snap faster and faster, chasing his high.

The kiss is deep, sloppy, all tongue and teeth and desperate breaths shared between you.

Dex’s rhythm turns feral, his hips pistoning into yours with single-minded focus. The headboard rattles against the wall with each snap of his pelvis, but he doesn’t care.

He’s so close. So damn close.

One hand grips your thigh to keep it hooked around him while the other tangles in your hair again as he kisses you like a man starved.

A low groan builds in his chest when that tight heat around him clenches again, and then he stills completely, burying himself to the hilt as pleasure crashes over him in waves. You encircle his neck as he shudders, pressing a kiss to his brow, his cheek. When he pulls out, laying on his back you stare at the ceiling, letting your blood cool. He ties off the condom, throwing it away and you stand up, reaching for your underwear.

“Bathroom.” You say quietly before moving out of the room.

Dex watches you go, the quiet tension lingering even after the intimacy. He sits up on his elbows, running a hand through his messy hair as he listens to the bathroom door click shut.

The room feels too big now without you in it. He exhales and stands too, pulling on his underwear before grabbing one of your oversized tshirts from your closet. It smells like laundry soap and you, so he pulls it over his head while waiting for you to come back.

Silence stretches between rooms, heavy with the nights events: Cassandra, lies, love confessions, and sex that couldn’t quite fix all of it.

When you come back, you’ve got a new tshirt on that hangs nearly to your knees. You move slowly, and Dex sits up as you approach.

“Can we…can we talk?” He asks softly.

You nod and sit down beside him on the bed, your back against the headboard and sigh, letting your eyes fall closed. “I don’t know what to think of this, Dex.”

Dex swallows hard.

He doesn’t want to mess this up. Doesn’t want you to leave him after everything, but he knows this conversation is necessary.

“Okay,” he says softly, turning slightly toward you. His knee brushes yours as he gathers his thoughts.

“I know it’s a lot,” he starts, voice gentle but earnest. “And I get why you’re upset, really, I do.” He glances at your closed eyes before continuing: “But…I need you to know that none of what we have is fake or part of some mission.”

His hand finds yours on the mattress and squeezes lightly.

“But it started that way,” you whisper, eyes finding his. “It started because of a job. A job you were a part of that hurt my friend.”

Dex’s throat tightens. That’s the ugly truth he can’t escape.

He nods slowly, his thumb tracing your knuckles as guilt flashes across his face.

“I know,” he admits quietly. “And I hate that it started like that. Hate that Cassandra got dragged into something because of my work.” He pauses, jaw working before adding: “But what we have? It wasn’t part of any plan.” His blue eyes lock onto yours, pleading for you to believe him even if everything else feels shaky right now. “Meeting you…falling for you? That was real. The job doesn't control how I feel about you.”

“Dex…” you purse your lips. “I barely know you. Everything I thought I knew…it was a lie.”

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t. The things I…the things I said to you. That date, when we got gelato? It was the most honest I’ve been in so…so fucking long.”

Because you’re right, he doesn’t know how to date normally. Doesn’t have practice with romance or casual flings because before you, he never let anyone close enough.

But that day in Italy, walking hand-in-hand down the cobblestone streets, talking until the sun went down, that was 100% real. The way he smiled when you laughed too loud, how he held your face after kissing for the first time, none of that was an act.

“I love those moments,” he says hoarsely. “All of them. Every single one. I-i think about them, all the time when I’m gone. About you.”

“How do I believe you?” You ask even though you want to. “How do I know you aren’t going to run back to Mr. Charles and tell him everything? That I’m not just a pawn?”

He shakes his head rapidly, both hands coming up to cradle your face now, forcing you to look at him properly.

“I would never,” he says fiercely, voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t report on my personal life, ever. Mr. Charles doesn’t know about you.” He swallows hard before continuing: “And even if they tried to pull me off this mission tomorrow? I’d quit first.”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, and you press your hand above his.

“I wanna believe you Dex,” you whisper. “I do. It’s just this is all, so fast and so much and I don’t know what to think.”

Dex inhales slowly. “You’re very precious to me. What I have…with you. I haven’t had in so long.”

Dex leans forward until his forehead rests against yours, his eyes drifting shut. The weight of your fear and confusion settles over him too, heavy and unshakable, but he doesn’t flinch from it. He stays exactly where he is, steady as stone. His lips meet yours softly at first, just a fleeting touch, like he’s asking instead of taking. Then again, a little slower this time, when you don’t pull away. It shifts into something gentler, reassuring. A quiet promise he doesn’t need words for.

When he finally pulls back just enough to look at you, there’s a faint, sad curve to his mouth. “We can take it slow,” he murmurs. “However slow you need.”

His fingers thread carefully through your hair, unhurried, like he’s trying to acknowledge the feeling after the chaos of the night. You nod, and turn your face just enough to press a kiss into his palm.

“Don’t make me regret this Dex,” you whisper into his hand and your eyes meet his. “Don’t make me look stupid.”

Dex’s heart breaks a little at that.

Because you trusting him, giving him this chance, means everything. He shakes his head fiercely again, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I won’t,” he murmurs against your hair, voice thick with emotion. “I swear on my life I won’t.”

His arms lock around you like armor, like he could physically shield both your hearts from any fallout caused by the messiness outside this room. He kisses your temple once…twice…three times in quiet devotion before resting his chin atop your head and just holding on.

You sit like that for a while before eventually scooting down onto the mattress, your head on his chest and Dex’s arms around you. His breathing slows, evening out and you feel him start to drift, the movements of his fingers on your back slowing.

He’s nearly asleep when you press yourself closer, letting your eyes shut with a quiet whisper. “I love you too.”

x

Divider @thecutestgrotto

Ao3 link

Ben Poindexter ML

When in Rome ML

Ben Poindexter taglist: @laufeydottirs-writings @viviannagiorgini

Now, the salt still clinging to your skin, sand somehow still hiding in places it has no business being, and Eddie is standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom like he’s about to receive a medical diagnosis.

He twists his shoulders toward the glass, then the other way.

He leans in a little closer.

“…Oh no,” he says.

You press against the doorframe, arms folded, watching him with open amusement. “That sounds promising.”

He ignores you completely, lifting the edge of his shirt just enough to get a better look at the bright red spread across his shoulders and upper back. It’s an impressive gradient, honestly, pink turning into deep sunburned crimson like he tried to roast himself evenly and failed spectacularly.

Eddie squints at his reflection like it might lie to him.

“Does it look bad?” he asks finally.

There’s a beat where you consider being kind.

You look at him again, at the very obvious sunburn, the slightly panicked expression, the damp curls still clinging to his forehead, and the kindness comes out in the form of a grin you don’t even try to hide.

“It looks like you tried to become toast,” you hum.

Eddie gasps like you’ve betrayed him on a spiritual level. “That’s not helpful.”

“It’s accurate.”

He turns fully now, abandoning the mirror as if it personally offended him, and points at his own shoulder. “Okay, but in my defense, I applied sunscreen.”

“You applied it once,” you correct.

“I re-applied emotionally,” he says, because that should count for something.

You laugh, stepping into the bathroom now. The tiles are cool under your feet, a welcome contrast to the lingering heat from outside. Eddie watches you in the mirror, waiting for a verdict from a higher authority.

You come up behind him instead, peering at his shoulders.

It really is just sunburn. Not bad-bad, just enough to be very obvious and very uncomfortable tomorrow.

“Alright,” you say after a moment. “Diagnosis: mildly roasted.”

Eddie groans. “I knew it.”

“But,” you add, reaching up to poke his shoulder lightly, “not fatal.”

He winces dramatically at the touch. “That hurt my feelings.”

“Your feelings are also sunburned.”

“That’s not even medically possible.”

“It is in your case.”

He lets out a long, suffering sigh and leans his hands on the sink, accepting his fate. “I am never going outside again.”

“You say that every summer.”

“This time I mean it.”

You bump your shoulder gently against his. “You had fun though.”

He pauses, his brows raising as his eyes find yours in the mirror. His voice drops a little softer. “Only because of you.”

The sentence changes the whole shape of him. The theatrics ease off just slightly, and panic fades into something more manageable.

You reach into the cabinet and pull out aloe gel, holding it up like a trophy. “Come here, disaster boy.”

Eddie perks up instantly. “Oh. You’re gonna fix me?”

“I’m going to attempt damage control.”

“That’s basically the same thing,” he says, already turning obediently back toward the mirror.

As you start smoothing the cool gel over his shoulders, he hisses once dramatically, then immediately relaxes, his entire body remembering what relief feels like.

“…Okay,” he mumbles after a moment. “This part I like.”

“You’re welcome.”

He glances at you in the mirror, expression softening in that quiet way he gets when he thinks you’re not looking. “Next time,” he says, “you’re in charge of sunscreen duty.”

“I was already in charge of sunscreen duty, you just didn’t listen.”

“Then you’re promoted,” he decides solemnly. “Head of not letting me turn into a lobster.”

You snort. “Big responsibility.”

“Very serious position,” he agrees, leaning back slightly into your touch like he’s settling in. “Requires dedication. Commitment. Emotional support.”

“Anything else?”

“Beach snacks,” he adds quickly.

You shake your head, smiling as you keep working the aloe into his sunburn. “Deal.”

And Eddie, still standing half-covered in aloe gel, looking at himself like he survived something important, says very quietly “…Worth it though.”

Your lips quirk and you kiss the tip of his nose, because that part doesn’t sound like a joke at all.

x

Divider @saradika-graphics

Eddie Munson blurbs

Too late to tell their son that he was their son because the people around them already thought that he was out of his mind and didn’t believe him. 

If he told Harry, then he probably wouldn’t believe him either and it would make what happened that fateful Halloween night worse.

And now… he never will.

That’s all he can think as falls through the veil, losing sight of their son, who’s crying out for him.

That he failed his promise to James, and he failed their son.

Now, he’s all alone in the world.

And Sirius is gone from it.  Forever.

He closes his eyes trying to avoid seeing Harry’s heartbroken look, the way he cries out for him, the way that he knows this is one of the worst things that ever happened to him.

It feels like he’s falling backward forever, completely in shock.

… maybe that’s just what the afterlife is… just floating, falling, lost to the world and themselves.

It’s a surprise when he finally hits the ground with an, “Oomph.”

“Hard fall there, eh, Si?” a voice from above asks him.

He knows that voice.

He’s dreamt of that voice.  The soft sounds of James Potter have haunted him for years.

“Jay?” Sirius questions, opening his eyes to take in a younger James than he remembers.  His black hair is still a mess, but his face is softer and shaven.  His eyes are soft but loving.

Far too loving considering how badly Sirius has failed him.

“It’s good to see you,” James offers, with a soft smile.  Offering him a hand to help him to his feet.  “Well, not good because you’re dead, but I’ve missed you.”

Sirius lets him help him to his feet.  “I’ve missed you like you have no idea, but … I – do you know?”

“I’ve been with you the entire time,” James states, a slight strangle in his voice.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?  Why are you sorry?” Sirius questions.  “I broke my promise.  Our son has no idea that he’s our son and I – I failed you and you’re apologizing?”

James raises his hand to run it through Sirius’ hair, he feels the soft comfort and assurance, but he’s still worried about the broken promise.  

James hums.  “Sirius, we may have, er, buggered things up like you wouldn’t believe, but it’s – if you’re not upset at me when you and our son suffered because we lied to the world, then how can I be upset when the outcome of our lies ruined your lives?  You weren’t in a position to follow through with your promise, and it’s just as much my fault as it is yours.”

Sirius wants to argue with him – he failed both James and Harry – but there’s a sudden feeling of peace that he hasn’t gotten to feel in a while. 

He sighs as he pulls James close.  “You really believe that?”

“I do,” James assures him.  “Maybe it’s the peace that comes with the afterlife or maybe it’s just years of half-looking forward to this moment of finally getting to be with you, again, now and forever, and I – I don’t want to waste it being angry about things we can’t change.”

Sirius hums.  “Me either – I’ve wanted to see you again and I’ve missed you so much, but there’s part of me that –”

“That’s still hurting.  Our son is on his own, facing a difficult destiny ahead of him, and it hurts, but there’s nothing we can do about that,” James states as he slides his hand down Sirius’ face.  “And I’ve been wanting to do something for a very long time instead.”

Sirius stands still as James searches his eyes for confirmation that a decade and a half apart hasn’t changed the way they feel about each other.

His heart beats faster as James leans forward, lifting Sirius’ chin as he does. 

Their lips meet in the middle and sparks fly.  He’s immediately lost in the feelings of soft lips and James’ hand sliding from his chin to hold his face.  A light kiss that deepens as Sirius pulls at his waist. 

A kiss that he’s been waiting for. 

He never wants it to end, but James leans back, smiling brilliantly at him.  “Come on, Si, let’s go to our afterlife home where we can continue this forever.”

Sirius grins.  “You promise?”

“Always.”

“I do believe these flowers were not here when I left for that wretched meeting with the navy,” the words escape his lips with a dramatized, beleaguered sigh.

“Oh, those,” Isabella laughs, having known very well the entire time just what Mihawk was referring to upon his return home. “Well, it’s just always so dreary and morose in this castle, especially with you gone, tesoro” she continues, stroking one manicured finger down Mihawk’s cheek and beard until her hand rests at the base of his strong jaw. “So, I thought a pop of color could brighten the place up in your absence. Surely you cannot fault me for that?”

“Ah, but now that I have returned, you no longer need that revolting shade of yellow, mi corazón.”

“And if I said they reminded me of your eyes?”  

“Then I’d insist we go to the nearest doctor to have your head examined, cariña,” Mihawk rolls his piercing eyes without any real malice behind it, grasping Isabella’s head lovingly in his hand before pulling her in for a kiss, soft and slow, their heartbeats syncing.

Author's Note: I always really enjoyed Mihawk in the anime, but the effort that Steven John Ward put into bringing the World's Greatest Swordsman to life really solidified Mihawk as one of my favorite non-Strawhats in One Piece. When I thought long and hard about what I could write for the prompt of "colors", I eventually thought of how funny it would be to have an unsuspecting Mihawk come home to his otherwise morose castle and find an invasion of color. I hope you all enjoyed this little story. Kudos, likes, and comments are always appreciated. Until next time, dear readers! Have an amazing day, afternoon, or night! Credit: Dividers were made by the talented @acrimson-embrace

He says your name softly, pulling back to look at you in the dark of your bedroom. You’re half naked, your shorts discarded and tshirt rumpled. You hadn’t been expecting him, hadn’t known he’d gotten home already. When he had shown up at your door though, you knew you wouldn’t turn him away. The opposite, really.

You welcome him into your home, into you like always when he comes back, and now you sit on the foot of your bed, running a hand down your mouth. His head tilts as he pulls off his belt, and you swallow because no matter how sad you are, you will always want this with him.

“What is it honey?” He says softly, sensing the ache you can’t ever seem to locate.

You shake your head. “When did you get back?”

Leon unzips his jeans and you reach for the hem of his shirt. You ignore the shake in your hands as you tug it up and over his head, standing to reach. The fabric peels away, revealing the lean muscle beneath, tanned from missions, marked with scars you know by heart. He doesn’t flinch as your fingers brush over them; he just watches you, quiet and patient in a way only Leon can be.

He kicks off his boots one by one, the sound muffled on the carpet, and then steps closer. Barefoot now, shirtless, jeans still unbuttoned.

Without a word, he cups your face again and kisses you slower this time, deeper, before you move onto the bed and scoot back to the headboard. He tugs down his jeans as you pull at your own top, leaning into the pillows.

“Just got back,” he murmurs and the bed dips as he gets onto it. “Wanted to see you.”

“You did?”

He nods, his hand coming up to brush your thigh. “Mhm.”

Leaning up, you cup his cheek and he sighs before twisting the side of his face to press his lips to your palm. It makes your eyes water again. You pull him into another kiss, softer now, lingering like a confession. Your hands slide into his hair, still damp at the ends from sweat or maybe rain outside, and for a moment, nothing else exists: no virus outbreaks overseas, no government briefings waiting on his desk tomorrow morning.

Just this bed. Just each other’s breath mixing in quiet desperation.

He rolls onto his back slightly as you press closer and pulls you half over him without breaking contact, and you settle your thighs bracketing his hips. “Are you okay?”

“Better now,” his voice is like gravel under your finger tips. “A million bucks.”

You can’t help smiling a little, and you lean down, sealing your mouth to his, bare breasts pressing to his bare chest. He’s hard beneath you, length separated by two thin scraps of fabric.

The kiss deepens, hungry and slow, Leon’s hands slide up your back, warm and calloused, mapping every inch like he’s memorizing you all over again. He breaks the kiss just enough to trail his lips down your jaw, then along the column of your throat, kissing softly at first before biting gently near your shoulder. A quiet groan rumbles in his chest.

One hand slips under the waistband of your underwear while the other grips tighter on the meat of your hip. His fingers glide through your folds, an appreciative groan pulled from his chest.

“The sweetest,” he mumbles, and you can see in the light from the streetlight outside that his eyes are hazy as he watches his fingers move beneath the fabric. “Damn.”

You sigh as his thumb presses your clit, slow movements that are so unhurried it’s as if he intends to stay. Moving your leg, you roll off him and Leon leans on his elbow beside you, tugging down your panties.

The cool air hits your skin for just a second before his warm palm replaces it, spreading over your hip and then down. He watches you as he touches you, the rise of your chest with each breath, the way your lips part slightly. He leans in and kisses you again, and at the same moment his fingers slide lower, dipping into wet heat. A slow stroke upward that makes both of you shiver.

He hums against your mouth, saying words you don’t catch before his tongue slips into your mouth. Pulling his boxers down, he settles between your spread thighs.

When Leon presses in, he’s met with no resistance.

You sigh, your lashes shutting as your knees cradle his hips. His scent envelopes you, crowding your brain and when he begins to move you recall why you wait for him.

Each roll of his hips is purposeful, savoring your skin against his. His breath fans over your neck as he kisses the spot beneath your ear that always makes you whimper.

He’s warm and solid above you, all muscle and quiet vigor wrapped in skin that smells like gunpowder. Every time he pushes in deeper, a soft groan escapes him, low and private for only you to hear.

One hand slides under your back to arch you closer while the other grips the pillow beside your head. He doesn’t rush; this isn’t about release yet, it’s about reconnecting after weeks apart on missions.

“Oh,” you gasp, the sound thin as you cling to him. “Oh.”

Leon leans up a little, his nose brushing yours and you’re almost sure he’s smirking. There’s stubble on his jaw and your fingers run over them loosely, lost in the feeling of him before a knot tightens in your gut, your toes curling at the base of his spine.

The smirk lingers, an expression you want to keep, before he captures your lips again in a deep kiss that mirrors the slow thrust of his hips. Every drag builds pressure, coiling tighter with each passing second.

His stubble scratches your chin and cheeks as he nuzzles into you between kisses, breathing you in like oxygen after being underwater too long. One hand slips down to grip your thigh and hike it higher around him for better leverage.

And when the knot snaps? When pleasure bursts through? He feels it, the way your body clenches around him, and groans like a man coming home.

Your head is a little fuzzy when his mouth finds yours again, and you squeeze your eyes closed for a moment, just inhaling him as his hips snap.

“Leon,” you whisper, and he pulls back to see you. You swallow thickly. “I-”

His rhythm stutters at the sound of your voice- Leon- spoken like a prayer, and his eyes search yours, dark with want but also something tender. He waits.

For what? For you to finish that sentence? To tell him how much you missed him? How lonely it got?

The room is quiet except for the soft creak of the bed frame and your shared breathing. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone as he studies you, still moving inside you but slower now, gentle instead of hungry.

You feel your eyes grow wet again and you hate yourself a little more.

“You’re going to leave me again aren’t you?”

It’s a question that had found its home in the quiet cracks of your heart. You don’t acknowledge it much, try not to think of it but it’s there. Breathing and beating within you.

Leon’s face falls. The gentle rhythm stops entirely.

For a second, his eyes bore into yours and then his expression fractures into something pained, guilty. Without pulling out, he gathers you against him and rolls onto his side so your bodies are flush along the mattress.

One hand cradles the back of your head as he presses a kiss to your forehead, and then his lips are pressing to yours, hard.

It’s an answer. An unspoken one, but an answer nonetheless.

When it’s over and you’re both sticky and breathless, you confine yourself to the bathroom. Staring at your reflection, you twist your lips.

You tell yourself you won’t cry.

You tell yourself that it’s fine, that you know this is how it is with him.

You tell yourself you don’t love him.

When you exit, he’s already pulling his clothes back on. You sit on the edge of the bed, watching him reloop his belt, the ache in your chest as steady as your heart beat.

Leon pauses with his shirt halfway on, and doesn’t say anything at first, just finishes dressing, each movement methodical like he’s suiting up for a mission again. The silence is thick and suffocating.

Once dressed, he sits beside you on the bed but keeps space between your bodies. He stares down at his hands for a long moment before finally speaking. “I have to go back out next week.”

“Where to?” You aren’t sure why you ask. You know he won’t tell you.

“I’ll be back when I can,” he says instead, and you brace your hands on your knees. “Soon.”

You nod slowly. “I know.”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair, messy from your fingers. The tension of the conversation presses down, and he looks tired all of a sudden. Not physically; emotionally.

Without thinking, Leon leans over and kisses your temple, softly this time, not with passion but something like regret. You try not to cry.

Then he stands up. Walks to the door. His hand rests on the knob for two seconds too long before turning it open.

“I’m sorry.” his voice is a soft whisper. “I hate that I did this to you. Do this to you.”

You stand up, wrapping your arms around your middle. “What do you mean?”

Leon turns back to you, his jaw tight like he’s fighting something. “I mean this-” He gestures between the two of you, “-us. You sitting there looking at me like I’m about to disappear.” He takes a step closer but doesn’t touch you again. His voice drops lower, burrowing under your skin. “I know what this is doing to us. Every time I leave… it gets harder for both of us.” A pause. “I hate that I made you love me.”

You feel anger kick at your spine, mixing with embarrassment. “You don’t make me do anything, Leon.”

His eyes flick up to your face. He knows you’re lying, you both do, but neither of you are truly brave enough to say. Stepping into your space, he presses a kiss just above your brow, and you close your eyes as you commit the action to memory.

The kiss is feather-light, aching. He lingers there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, breathing in the scent of your skin, shampoo and you, something uniquely familiar.

“I’ll find my way from you,” your threat is quiet, weak. Leon leans back to meet your eyes, the iris’s shining. “I can’t- I just-”

Before either of you can stop it, he cups your face in both hands and kisses you. Hard. Desperate. It tastes like salt because neither of you realized tears were falling until now. His lips move against yours with urgency, like this might be the last time, like if he doesn’t pour everything into this kiss right here, right now, it’ll all fall apart forever.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” He whispers against your mouth, and you dip your chin, letting your eyes close. “I barely tried.”

Then he pulls away.

Without another word, Leon turns and walks out. You can hear the front door clicking shut behind him with terrifying finality.

You stand frozen in the bedroom for minutes that stretch painfully long. Outside, his car engine starts, then fades as it drives off into the night, like flowers from a tomb.

x

Divider @pixopix

Ao3 link

Leon Kennedy taglist: @yours-truly-andrea @xozoelivia @princesssugarplum

Leon Kennedy ML

But as they step outside to see some sort of water war going on, he can’t help thinking that he’s just insanely lucky. 

It only takes a second for everyone to realize that they’re awake and for them to turn their water guns on them. 

“Hey, no fair!” Casey yells when Severide dodges behind him.  But he’s quick to find some water guns laying on the picnic table next to paints of different colors and the kids’ art of colored flags that he’ll look at later. 

He turns his water gun on Severide who is getting soaked despite his best efforts to use Casey as a human shield. 

He’s yelling and dodging as he tries to find a water gun himself.  Christie gets him wet, distracting him from the fact that he’s getting wet from above, but as soon as he does, he glances up to see Ben and Caden in the treehouse, covering for the kids on the ground against him, Severide and their sisters, which deeply unfair.

“It’s cheating to be in the tree!” he yells, but his words are drowned out by the water raining down on him. 

He hears Severide laughing behind him, followed by a playfully annoyed, “HEY!” when he’s drenched in water by the kids on the ground.

“That’s what you get,” Casey teases, even as Katie and Christie turn their guns on him. 

Well, damn, guess they didn’t need that shower this morning.

***

It takes a while for everyone to settle down and dry out.  Laughing and teasing about teaming up against Severide and Casey. 

“I see you spent the morning trying to get the kids to team up against us while we were sleeping,” Severide teases as he starts up the grill. 

“Yes, while you were just sleeping off your shift, we decided that we were going to mess with you,” Katie teases with a look in her eyes that suggests that were decidedly not as quiet as they tried to be. 

He hears Casey choke on his water from where he’s chatting with Christie about the kids’ paintings, as Severide offers, “Oops?”

Katie just laughs.  “You’d think you’d be better at hiding considering you have kids.”

“Well, we did everything backwards, so…” he glances over at the boys playing monkey in the middle with Violet as the monkey (at least for the moment).  “… besides, the boys didn’t seem to notice.”

“That’s because they’re too young to notice,” Katie offers.  “Me, though, I definitely noticed, and you should remember that your bedroom is on the floor with the kitchen and living room and dining room… you know right where visitors hang out.”

“And here, I thought you’d be outside plotting your sneak attack…”

Katie’s shaking her head with a laugh.  “I was trying to bake your cake before it got too hot, and I thought you two went straight to bed –”

“Technically, we did –”

“Sev!” Casey warns.  

Severide laughs as he spots the flush on Casey’s face and knows that he and Katie don’t have the same sibling type relationship that Casey has with Christie, and they definitely tend to say some inappropriate things at times.

“I wasn’t going to –”

“You baked us a cake?” Casey prompts turning from Severide to Katie, who’s giggling at them. 

“Yes,” she says, excitedly.  “I am very proud of the art I did.  Can’t wait for you to see it.”

“Can we show them now, Aunt Katie?” Ben asks, apparently abandoning the game and causing the others to stop.  “We can show you what we made for you, too.”

“Sure,” Severide offers, even though he’s confused about what art she added or why she made them a cake.  “We’d love to see it.”

Katie grins.  “Awesome.  I’ll get go it.”

He’s immediately distracted by Ben pulling him away from the grill to where the kids’ paintings are drying on the picnic table. 

“This one’s for you, dad.”

He gestures at a painting that he thinks is meant to be him and Casey and they’re both holding colored flags.  Griffin’s painting, too, has them and the same two – yet, different – colored flags with him and Ben squeezed in there, too.

“It’s great, buddy,” Severide assures him. 

“Yeah, great painting, kid,” Casey offers.  “But why are the flags odd colors?”

Ben gives him a confused look.  “They’re your flags.”

“Our flags?” Severide questions, glancing at an equally confused Casey.

Before anyone could respond, Katie comes out with a cake that also has the same two flags crossing.  One that has a black triangle with thin purple stripe coming out of the triangle with a white stripe on top and grey stripe on bottom.  The other with three horizontal stripes – the middle a thinner purple with the top pink and the bottom blue thicker stripes.

The words Happy Pride are written underneath the flags. 

Katie puts the cake on the table with a little “Ta-Da,” smiling and grinning and he’s still a little confused.

“It’s, uh, very pretty, Katie,” Casey offers when no one moves for a minute – waiting on their response.  “But what is … pride?  And what are these flags?”

For a second, Katie’s mouth opens and closes, clearly because she doesn’t know what to say and ends up with, “Wasn’t Shay a lesbian?”

“Yes,” Severide says, slowly.  “What does that –”

“She never talked to you about pride?  About the lesbian flag or anything else?” Katie questions, sounding genuinely confused.  “You said you – you started wondering a year ago, didn’t you do research?”

Casey shakes his head as Severide contemplates how to tell her about his research.  “Don’t ask him about his research, it’s not going to be what you think it is.”

Katie makes a face, shakes her head and laughs.  “You two really just went – eh, we want to date each other and nothing else matters, right?”

“Yes,” Severide offers because he honestly hadn’t thought about anything else.  All he wanted was to kiss Casey and never stop.  “Although I did make a reddit thread, but that was more about if Casey liked me.”

“Kendra gave me a book,” Casey offers with a shrug.  “Which helped me figure things out – I wasn’t really sure exactly.  But yeah, pretty much.”

Katie laughs and shakes her head as Christie offers, “Pride is a celebration of the LGBTQ+ community, identity and history.  June is pride month.  Katie – we – thought with you two coming out to us that we’d honor that.”

“Oh,” Severide says, blinking.  “That’s really sweet, honestly.”

Casey offers her a hug before asking, “So, what do the flags mean?  Isn’t there only one flag?”

“Yeah, I think Shay had a flag that she said was the flag of her people, but I thought she was just making things up,” Severide offers.  “Or that it was just a general flag.  Neither of these looks like that one, though.”

The look Katie’s giving him is one of disbelief and mouths, “Wow,” at him.

Christie looks like trying not to laugh as Violet says, “There are a lot of different flags now.”

She pulls out her phone and shows something to Casey scans through them for a minute and says, “Yours is the pink, purple, blue one.  Mine’s better.”

“Better?” he teases.  “How so?  It’s grey.”

“It’s not just grey and it’s got more of a design to it,” he offers, but he’s eyes are bright as he teases. 

“Haha,” Severide offers as Violet launches into an explanation of the colors on the bi flag versus the colors on the demi flag.

He only finds himself mildly distracted by the fact that he’s gotten distracted from the grill and burning their burgers, but he listens as she explains, smiling slightly.  It’s not exactly something that he really thought about in the last year. 

Like, objectively, he knew he was bi.  He knew there was an easy term for it, and he knew that he liked both men and women and particularly, Casey, but he never really looked into anything else.  He doesn’t remember any mention of pride or more than one flag when he lived with Shay (she did have the lesbian flag up at their place) and he never really asked questions about Shay’s love life.  They had a deal – no interference – and they kept to it, even when he wished that they wouldn’t keep to it.  And when he was talking to Kendra, he never really asked about the history and stuff either.  He knew, of course, of the parade and march, but he never really thought too deeply about it. 

He was more interested in figuring out if his interest was worth the chaos (and wouldn’t mess up what they have) than anything else, but as he looks at the crossing flags on the cake and hears the conversation about pride and whatnot (at least what Katie and Christie know of it), he wonders if maybe he should care to learn more about that stuff. 

Especially since it’s now a part of him, even if he and Casey hadn’t exactly put any more thought into it other than wanting to be with each other. 

He catches Casey’s eye as he puts the food in the middle of the picnic table, and he knows he’s wondering the same thing.  Maybe it’s something that they can explore together, but that’s something for later. 

“Christ, I just can’t...”

Henry’s voice trails off as he begins again, this time getting a little farther before hitting a couple of wrong notes and groaning, again.

Intrigued, Alex makes his way up the stairs, greeted by David in the hallway, his tail wagging all excitedly as he always does when Alex gets home.  He can’t resist stopping and playing with his floppy ears as he tells him what a good boy he is.

He could easily talk to David for a while, but he hears: “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” and figures that Henry may need him more considering that his efforts today seem to be a bit of a struggle.

So, Alex gives David one last pat on the head before he follows the tones of the piano and Henry’s complaints down the hall to their music room.

The door is open, so he stops and leans in the doorway, watching Henry as he focuses on the keys.  The music is unfamiliar, but lovely until he misses a key and huffs, annoyed. 

“Why can’t I get this?” Henry mutters to himself, but Alex offers, “Maybe you need a break, baby.”

Henry looks up surprised.  “Alex, you’re home?”

Alex chuckles, slightly.  “Same time as yesterday, I’ve been doing better about coming home on time.”

Henry nods.  “Yes, yes, of course, I just hadn’t realized how late it was.  I planned to try to make dinner.”

Alex gives him a soft smile as he moves next to him, setting on the bent and nudging him.  “Maybe we could try playing together for a while instead?”

“Thought you never played music before?”

“I haven’t,” Alex retorts with a smile.  “That’s why this will be so fun and maybe it’ll help you figure out some of the issues you’re having with your song to teach me?”

Henry frowns, thoughtfully.  “I suppose that could work.”

“Good,” Alex offers, kissing his cheek.  “Then, teach me.”

“Gladly.”

***

While teaching Alex had been quite helpful.  Henry still felt a little bit stuck on his song. 

He knew that the song was something that his mother used to be play when he was younger, and though he had reached out to her, she couldn’t remember it.  So, instead, he has a bit of an earworm that isn’t helping him figure out where exactly he should go with it just yet.

He knows what he’s been trying hasn’t been working, but he’s at a loss as to where it should go.  He can’t figure out why the song just isn’t coming together.

“Oh, baby,” Alex says, softly when he finds Henry with his face in his hands.  He walks behind him at the piano and rubs his shoulders a bit.  “I thought this was meant to be fun for you rather than stressful.”

“It is, typically,” Henry replies, as Alex slides his hands from shoulders down his chest.  A half-hug around his neck with Alex still standing while Henry sits at the piano.  “It just – I have a bit of an earworm, and I can’t quite wiggle it free.”

“Maybe you should try playing something else for bit?”

Henry shrugs.  “I don’t know if that will help.”

Alex hums as he shifts to sit beside him.  “What if I played you something?  It’s gonna suck, but maybe it will wiggle it free?”

“I suppose it doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Good.”

***

It doesn’t work.

Despite Alex’s best efforts, Henry continues to be a little more than annoyed at not being able to remember the song, so by the time a week passes, Alex is a little more weary when he hears music as he enters the brownstone after classes. 

He suspects that he’s still determinedly trying to figure out the song to no avail, but he’s a good boyfriend, so he follows the sounds of music up the stairs to their music room to find a surprisingly happy looking Henry. 

He’s dancing as he plays the song on the piano, looking like maybe he might’ve figured it out. 

“Someone’s happy?” Alex prompts when he appears to have finished the song.

Henry looks up and grins, eyes bright and gleeful.

“I’ve figured it out, love,” Henry says as he reaches out a hand to pull Alex close to him.  He doesn’t resist, letting himself slide onto the bench beside Henry.   “Listen.”

He starts the song, again, not missing a note even as he smiles and dances.  Alex doesn’t recognize the song, but Henry is grinning and dancing and it’s good.  He may not have known it before, but he loves it purely for the way that it makes Henry happy like this. 

So, he smiles and dances along, nodding his head to the beat and enjoying this moment with Henry, the love of his life, and the one person in the world that deserves all of the happiness in the world.

It’s absolutely perfect as the song ends and he leans into Henry, giving him a sweet kiss.

“Perfect, baby, absolutely the best song ever.”

Henry laughs.  “It probably isn’t, but I do enjoy it, and I am so happy that I finally figured out my earworm.”

“Me too,” Alex agrees.  “Play it again?”

“Absolutely.  I’ll play it all night long if you want me, too.”

“Sounds brilliant.”