Something Right
(Rex Sloan x GN!Reader)
💐Order #26 for my 4K Event💐
Word Count: 1,352
Debrief: Rex shows up at your room with wildflowers after another close call.
Case Notes: slowly but surely I’m getting through all the 4K requests! Enjoy your flowers, Nonnie!
The flowers are already wilting a little by the time Rex makes it to your door. Not dramatically, not movie-style drooping, by any means. Just slightly tired around the edges. Petals curling like they have seen a bit too much of the world. He relates to that on a deep, spiritual level. He stands in the hallway of Guardians HQ, right outside your door, staring at them like they might bite him.
“Okay,” he mutters to himself, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “You fought a guy made of knives last Tuesday. You got impaled by a forklift in Detroit. You survived a literal gunshot lobotomy. You can knock on a door.”
He doesn’t knock. Instead, he stares harder, his green eyed gaze wandering over the door to your room. He’s been through it so many times. Sometimes it’s in the quiet of the night when his thoughts are too loud. Sometimes after hard missions when he just needed a release.
The hallway hums with that constant mechanical buzz, lights too bright, air smelling faintly of disinfectant. Somewhere down the corridor, someone laughs, Amanda probably. Life keeps moving, loud and careless.
Rex swallows. Because the truth is, knives and explosions are easy. They come at you fast and honest, leaving no room for doubt. Feelings are quieter. They sneak up like a loose wire sparking behind the wall. He hates that.
He shifts the bouquet in his hand. They are not fancy by any means. No roses. No grand romantic nonsense, because he knows you’d hate that. You make fun of them every time you make him watch a stupid romcom with you. They’re just a bunch of stubborn little wildflowers he grabbed from a roadside stand on the way back from a mission. Bright colors, slightly uneven stems, the kind of flowers that look like they grew up fighting for their survival. Very on brand, in Rex’s opinion.
He exhales, squares his shoulders, and finally knocks. Just once. Sharp. Decisive. Then he immediately regrets every life choice that led him to this moment when your voice comes from inside, “Door’s open.”
Great. Fantastic. There’s no time to run now. No time to fake a sudden emergency. No time to pretend he got lost on the way to literally anywhere else.
He pushes the door open, his breath catching the way it does when he sees you anymore. You are sitting on your bed, boots half unlaced, still in uniform, hair a little messy from patrol. You look up, brows lifting in mild surprise when you see him standing there like a man who accidentally wandered into the wrong home.
Then your eyes drop to the flowers. You blink, head tilting a bit and Rex clears his throat, “Hey.”
Brilliant opening. Pulitzer material.
You’re studying him now, slow and curious. Suspicious, even. Because Rex Sloan does not do flowers. Rex Sloan does not show up at your door looking like he swallowed a grenade. This whole situation is nothing short of strange.
“Did you hit your head again?” you ask.
He huffs a small, humorless laugh, “Yeah. Probably. Couple times.”
A beat passes and the air shifts. Something heavier settling between you, like a storm cloud deciding where to let the downpour start.
Rex steps inside and shuts the door behind him. The click sounds louder than it should. He holds the bouquet out to you. He’s not suave about it. Not smooth. Offered almost like a peace treaty, “These are for you.”
You stare at the flowers like they might explode, “who are you and what have you done with Rex?”
“Shut it.” He says with a snort and a shake of his head.
Rex runs a hand over the back of his neck again, pacing across your small room before stopping in front of you. He looks everywhere except your face. The floor. The wall. The stupid motivational poster someone in your family had sent you as a joke after your first week on the job. Your brother, he thinks.
Anywhere but you. Because you matter, your reaction matters. And that is terrifying to Rex.
“I almost died again yesterday,” he says finally.
Your expression tightens immediately. Concern flashes across your face before you can hide it, “What?”
“Yeah. Got pinned under some collapsing concrete. Thought, this is it. This is how I go. Crushed like a soda can. Real glamorous stuff.”
You stand up now, fully alert, tension humming through your body, “Rex.”
He shakes his head quickly, “I’m fine, obviously. Still here. Still incredibly handsome.”
That earns a small, reluctant huff of breath from you. Not quite a laugh, but close enough to keep him going, “Still annoying.”
He huffs as well, looking from you, at the flowers again, then back at you before continuing, his voice a bit rough, “But I was down there, and everything got real quiet. You know that moment? When your brain finally shuts up and all the noise disappears?”
You nod slowly, understanding that brink he’s describing.
“And I realized something.” Rex finally meets your eyes, swallowing and letting the silence linger for a few moments, “I don’t want to keep doing this halfway.”
Your breath catches softly in your chest and Rex pushes forward anyway, words tumbling out all messy and honest and unstoppable, “I don’t want to keep pretending this is just… fun. Just casual. Just two idiots blowing off steam between missions. Because it’s not. Not for me anymore.”
You go very still. The room feels smaller and warmer. Rex takes a step closer, closing the distance until he is standing right in front of you, slowly kneeling In front of you. Close enough to see the tiny scar near your eyebrow. Close enough to notice the way your hands have gone tense at your side on the bed.
“I’ve had too many chances to die,” he says quietly, his voice soft and warm as one of his hands land over yours, “Too many moments where I thought, damn, this is it. Lights out. Game over. And every single time… every single fucking time the last thing I think about is you.”
Your eyes widen just a fraction, and you swallow, your fingers twitching under his palm. Rex lets out a shaky breath, the kind that feels like it rattles in your ribs.
“I’ve screwed up a lot in my life,” he continues, hand shifting to hold yours, “Made dumb choices. Hurt people. Wasted time. Hell, I built a whole personality out of not caring about anything too much.”
He gives a small, crooked smile, green eyes softer than you had ever seen them, “But I care about you. Way too much to keep pretending this is nothing. I fuckin’ love you.”
He gently presses the flowers into your hands. Their stems are rough to the touch despite the fuzz on some of them, “I want to do something right for once.”
Rex searches your face, nervous now in a way no battlefield has ever managed to make him.
“I want you,” he says simply, “Not just the late night, no strings, pretend it doesn’t matter version. I want the real thing. The messy, terrifying, stick around when it’s hard and I don’t like you very much version. I want you, y/n”
A long pause stretches between you, thick as honey as his words settle over you like an electric blanket, warm and secure.
“But if you don’t… if this isn’t what you want, I’ll back off. No pressure. No guilt. I just needed to say it before the universe tries to drop another building on me.”
You look down at the flowers in your hands. Bright, and crooked, and stubborn. Just like him. When you finally lift your gaze back to his, your eyes are shining, a grin on those plush lips he loves to kiss, “that was cheesy as hell.”
And then, unexpectedly to him, your lips are on his. Soft and warm moving in a way that’s achingly familiar as you murmur against them, “I love you too.”
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