#rexlia

[isaut]

opheliaj posted: happy valentines from me and mine to you and yours <3

[isaut]

what’s it like the first time rex gives into his nasty little thoughts with you? if you don’t mind me asking 🙈💝

i think it catches me so off guard... we're loving on each other, same as always... can feel him in my throat as he's moving in and out of me... hand on my tummy over where it bulges just slightly with every thrust... and when he cums, all deep and homey, it's leaking out and mixing with my cum and... he just can't help himself but dip down and lick it all up... swirl his tongue around and inside and slurp... and while i might be caught off guard it feels so good that before i know it... his fingers are joining his tongue to make sure he eats every bit of cum (both his and mine)... to the point that i can't help but cum again because he can't help but crook his fingers just know i like it...

[isaut]

candy crush. rex x f!reader. domestic & suggestive, acotar spoilers lol. mdni

“see, look. piece of cake.”

you turn your attention from your book to watch the remnants of the matching game rex is playing. power ups are exploding on the large screen of his ipad. a ‘good job’ floats across the screen in stylized purple.

he’s got one life left, out of five. you look from the screen to him, reach over and pat his forearm.

“that’s nice, honey,” you say. you gaze flits down his exposed chest, then to where the sheets and duvet barely keep him decent. you hadn’t actually been paying attention to when he got into bed, and it doesn’t look like he’s got any underwear on, as you can see his hipbone and the very outside of his v line.

rex smiles. he leans into your space, looking over your shoulder. “hows your book?”

“you know. same as ever. they’re going to have a baby but there’s complications because he has wings and she’s a human. he’s just told his brothers and now everyone needs to make a big deal about it,” you say, bored. you put down your book and instead lift the covers, more interested on figuring out of rex has on bottoms.

“what happened?” you ask, not looking up from where you can see his cock. just flaccid, content under the blankets.

“what do you mean?” rex asks, already engrossed in the next level.

“why no underwear?”

“i was nice and clean from my shower.”

“and is your underwear not nice and clean?”

“well,” rex sets the ipad against his chest. “i was going to come in and romance you into taking off your clothes, but you were occupied with your little fairy boys.”

“they’re fae,” you correct him, meeting his gaze while you let the duvet fall. “you could have interrupted me.”

rex shrugs, picking his ipad back up. “seems like a lot is going on in your book.”

“i’m just reading,” you huff. you dogear your page and set it aside. “i’m sorry i didn’t notice you getting into bed naked.”

“i was standing around naked for a while too,” rex sniffs. “brushed my teeth and everything.”

“well i’m glad you brushed your teeth,” you say. “i’m paying attention now.”

“moment’s passed,” rex says, but he’s fighting a smile as he glances up from his game.

you hum, sliding your hand under the duvet and over his thigh, inching through his pubic hair to feather over his cock. “yeah, right.”

“moment’s passed,” rex repeats, making a match on his ipad. your finger slides through the slit at his tip, and he stirs against your touch.

both of you make eye contact. hold it.

“has it?” you question.

“let me finish this level,” rex says quickly.

“it’s now or never,” you tease, rising to your knees and shimmying the blankets back.

you settle between his thighs. immediately, rex dumps the game on the nightstand, spreading out to make more room for you.

“lock it so i can’t hear that stupid music,” you say, taking a firmer grip around his cock and stroking once.

rex scrambles to do so.

[isaut]

𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆— f!reader x captain rex. 1.2k. ao3

rex is back on the fleet ship. he's completely on task, like he always is... previous. masterlist.

The fleet ship hums around Rex. He sits in one of the deck chairs, eyes trained on the datapad in front of him. It's the report from the last mission, he really needs to be focusing on this, this needs to be done tonight… Instead, his mind cannot stay focused. He needs to take a cold shower, with the images that keep flashing through his mind. 

Espresso. Sweet cookies. Sweetness. Warmth. The images aren’t even stale, he can still feel your hand wrapped around him, separated by the thin of a condom. 

“Hey.” 

Rex still hasn’t forgotten the tightness, the squeeze right before the climax. The wetness all over him. Gods, the wetness all over him. The mournful way he’d cleaned himself up in the bathroom.

“Hey.” 

The second interruption is accompanied by a pair of hands landing on his shoulders. Rex startles, which is very unlike him. He looks over his shoulder and is met with General Skywalker’s familiar face. 

Immediately, he snaps to attention. Stands up, still holding the datapad. “General, I didn’t notice you.” 

“I figured.” Anakin waves his hand and Rex relaxes his stance. “I have two things. One, do you have the reports done? Plo is asking for them.” 

“Almost done, sir.” Shit. 

“And two, you’re thinking really loud.” Anakin bites down on the inside of his cheek to hide the smile forming on his face. “Like really loud.” 

Embarrassment courses through Rex’s body. Suddenly, his suit is a thousand degrees. Jedi and their sensitivity. This time he doesn’t have the cover of his brothers and the exhaustion of battle to keep from the prodding. 

“Glad you had fun on Naboo,” Anakin says, his grin escaping from his teeth. “Again.”

Rex clears his throat. “I should really get back to the report.” 

“Sure,” Anakin says. He turns to leave, then stands in front of the doorway. “Hey, better me than Plo, right?” 

“Yessir,” Rex replies, feeling even warmer. 

Anakin places his hand over his heart. “They’re something else. Your secret’s safe with me.” 

Anakin’s words rattle in his brain: women from Naboo are something else. Rex swallows. And “Thank you, sir.” 

Anakin gives him a lazy salute. The doors slide open, and leaves Rex alone in the room. With a long exhale, Rex looks out to the endless darkness of the galaxy. He rubs his hand over his hair, collapsing back into his seat. 

With his exhaustion, Rex treats himself to a warm shower. The fourth shower stall on the second hall of the captain’s area in the barracks is the best one. It has the best shower pressure, has the purple shampoo, and the cucumber body wash. Rex likes his showers in the middle of the night to ensure that there’s no one else using it. Out of over fifty showers, he doesn’t think it gets used often. 

The sound of the water coming from the faucet, combined with the sound of shower shoes on tile, is the only noise in the area. The pitter patter is almost meditative. Rex’s mind wanders, floating about as he stares at the white tiles. You have nice tiles, a creative mosaic in your bathroom. Everything on Naboo seems artisanal, down to the way you live. The way you talk. The way you touch. 

Rex’s hand hovers over the shower knob. He should go to bed. There’s an uncomfortable hardness brewing between his legs. He should blast himself with cold water and go to bed. Cold water is good for his hair. 

But the water is warm. It’s adding a red hue to his skin. He’s comfortable. It’s cold on the ship. It’ll be cold in his room. It’s– 

Rex’s hand slides down his pelvis, until the conjuncture of his thumb and first finger meets the base of his cock. He hesitates for a moment, looking down his chest. Water slips past him, over his head and down the sides of his face. 

He thinks about your shower. He thinks about you in your shower. He pumps himself to the thought of all your exposed skin, warmed by the steady stream of warm water. He imagines that you take hot showers, scalding hot showers, just like him. He imagines that you’d be impressed that he indulges in hot showers. 

A sigh leaves his lips as his fist travels towards his head then back down. He inhales, deep, as he presses his free hand against the wall and leans forward. Another shaky breath as he passes his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading a speck of precome over the growing head. 

Rex swallows. His hand is no way comparable to yours, it’s too broad, too rough. There’s no softness. There’s a gentleness that he simply cannot match. 

He replays a common memory for him now. You, straddling him. Hand between your thighs, reaching for his cock. The feeling of his fingers bumping up against yours. The warmth as you sunk down on him. The look on your face, the pinched brows, the open mouth, the little moan from the back of your throat. 

Rex almost mimics it, but it comes out as a heavy sigh. 

Then there’s all your skin flashing through his mind. The vanilla, the rose, the shea butter. The taste of coffee on your tongue. Your tongue. Soft and moving against his– Rex twists his wrist. Another shaky breath escapes his lips. 

Truly, Rex doesn’t know how he lasted so long. His short timeframe had been a blessing, had been able to hide that he easily could have come just from sinking into you, from the feeling of your walls pulsing around him from the–

Rex’s jaw hinges open. His eyes squeeze shut. He rests his forehead against the hand pressing against the wall. Milky white spills from the head of his cock. Rex’s thigh shakes. 

He pumps himself as he comes, pumps himself after he’s finished, until he’s a hair tender. Only because he imagines you would do the same thing, with a breathy smile on your lips and a glimmer in your eye. 

Rex stands under the scalding spray, watching the water wash away his release. He takes gulps of steamy air. Unhooks his washcloth and pumps body wash onto the cloth. 

He washes his legs again, and while the cloth rubs over his thighs, he tries not to think of your lips there, of your tongue there, doing what his cloth is doing currently. He tries not to think of you doing exactly what he’s doing, cleaning himself off. He thinks, instead, of cleaning you up. Of the cloth against your thighs, of the essence he had to swipe away. 

He should have used his tongue. 

Rex shuts the water off. 

It’s silent, in the shower hall. He towels himself off in the stall, and changes in the open. With his towel slung over his shoulder, he walks back to his room. 

It’s small. Just a bed on metal and a little counter, a little mirror. Rex hangs up his towel and comes over to his neatly made bed. He reaches a hand under the mattress and pulls out the little sticky note with your frequency on it. 

(17) 21-54-9875-6720

Rex has stared at it for a long time. Has dragged his thumb over the penned in numbers. The 9875-6720 stares out at him. Calls out to him. 75-67. 

Rex tucks the paper back under his mattress. He turns out the light. Flops onto his back. Stares up at the ceiling, at the blinking, red light there. It could go off any second, calling him into action. 

The Force works in mysterious ways. Rex rolls over to his stomach. Wraps an arm around his pillow. Closes his eyes. Sleep finds him, and dreams cradle him against her warm chest.

[isaut]

𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆— f!reader x captain rex. 1.2k. ao3

just a little something in between. previous. masterlist.

The capitol is still asleep– At least the human part of it. Droids bustle, carrying out tasks from the night prior or their master’s bedrooms. A few birds chirp and fly around, searching for their next meal, perhaps their children’s next meal.

No one pays him any attention. 

As he walks, Rex tries not to think about what it would have been like to still be asleep. In your bed. With your heavy duvet and soft pillows and gentle breaths. Head heavy against feathers. Warm under your covers. Still motionless. 

Maybe not motionless. Maybe soft. Maybe like in those movies Cody likes to watch, the ones where they stay and they talk in bed for a few minutes before rising. There’s always this light in the rooms coming from the windows with sheer curtains billowing in the breeze. The windows like yours. The curtains like yours. The couple is always in a slightly messy bed, just like yours. With the covers strewn about, doing little to keep everyone decent, and the pillows just mussed enough to provide a place to lay one’s head. 

The gangway is already down. Immediately, Rex’s heart jumps in his chest and he checks the time on his electronic watch. 7:28. There can’t be any chance that General Skywalker is back this early, he should still have at least an hour before he’s returned. 

General Skywalker has better things to do than sit on a cramped spaceship with a bunch of troopers that are here for an ‘undisclosed mission.’ 

Burnt coffee floats towards Rex as he climbs into the ship. Perhaps, if he’s lucky, he’ll be able to completely sneak by the kitchen area if the door is closed. Then, he can go straight to the shower, freshen up, and get suited up. 

Like nothing happened. 

Because nothing should have happened. Guilt for that thought twinges in Rex’s stomach. 

Coming from the kitchen is a noticeable ruckus through the open door. Echo is speaking, bemoaning about how loud Hardcase is being and how bright the lights are. Rex isn’t surprised this is where the conversation has turned to– With all the different colors of liquor that went down the hatch, Rex is surprised that Echo is sitting up and withstanding Hardcase’s ribbing. Getting into his suit will not be a pleasant experience. 

Rex tries to pass the room as quietly as possible.

To no avail. 

“What do you think you’re going?” 

Rex pauses at Fives’ voice. He doesn’t know why he pauses, he could easily keep walking, could easily ignore him. 

“Headed to shower,” Rex says. 

“Going to shower?” 

Rex nods. “So I’ll see you later. Save me some coffee.” 

He doesn’t need anymore coffee. 

“Not so fast,” Fives says. He leans from side to side, trying to look at Rex from all angles. There’s an expectant arch to his brow, an expectant pull to his lips. 

“Yes?” Rex asks. 

“I mean…” Fives glances over at his brothers, one of which is trying to maintain a suspicious lack of eye contact. Kix’s hand rubs the back of his head as he stares at the wall. “How was it?” 

The tips of Rex’s ears turn red. “Uh, what are you talking about?’ 

“What am I talking about?” Fives scoffs and shakes his head. “What do you mean? You’ve been gone all night–”

“–There’s no curfew–” Rex cuts in. 

“–And Kix says when we left you at the bar–” 

There’s a particularly forceful shove to the side of Fives’ head that has him rocking sideways. Kix leaves his hand there, hissing out, “Shut up. You said you’d shut up!” 

At this development, Rex turns to fully face the room. His interest has piqued considerably, given this hint at unsolicited disclosure. He widens his stance, crossing his arms over his chest. With a look between a glare and a stare, he eyes Kix, though he speaks to Fives. 

“Go on.” 

Kix is suddenly incredibly interested in the bottom of his coffee cup. Perhaps he wants to read the grounds at the bottom in a recent stroke of esotericism, vying for a premonition about his fate. 

Fives narrows his eyes, unsure of how to proceed. Rex’s tone is his captain tone, the one where he needs information and is going to get it. 

“No…” Fives says, trailing off, unsure of his own defiance. Unsure of the can of worms he’s opened. 

“No, share,” Rex insists. “What did Kix say?” 

Hardcase is not as reliable as Echo is for sharing information, but he’s also well known for being over excited. His metaphorical tail wags— maybe there’s a treat that comes with the information. 

 “Kix said you were talking to a bombshell on the roof,” Hardcase blurts out. 

This is brotherly betrayal, something unexpected but not unheard of. “Can’t bring you anywhere,” Kix bemoans, regretting his own blabbering, drunk mouth and his presence in the room. 

Rex raises an eyebrow. Kix isn’t wrong. Rex doesn’t know if bombshell is in his vocabulary per say, but it’s an apt description. 

“Did he now?” 

Hardcase’s hand goes over his own mouth, quick and clamping. 

Rex scans over his brothers, all successfully avoiding eye contact. He goes for the weakest link, focusing in on Echo and his green-hued skin. His head is in his hands, looking resolutely down at the table, clinging onto his upright position. Clinging to reality. 

“Echo, what else did Kix say?”

“Please don’t ask me,” Echo says, voice quiet. There’s a nauseated sway to his words. 

“Hardcase?” 

His brother in question keeps his hand clapped over his mouth and shakes his head fervently. 

Fives pipes up with that is supposed to ease the tension in the room. “Hey, listen, Rex, we aren’t judging you, in fact, we’re real happy for you! If anything, this is something you’ve been needing—”

“We need to be suited up and ready to go at O-900,” Rex interrupts. “Echo, you going to be good by then?”

Echo nods. He gives a half-hearted thumbs up. 

Hardcase releases his mouth with a gasp, as if he had been holding his breath in order to hold in his next words. His face scrunched in a desperate plea. “C’mon, please, share with us. Sharing is caring! I would share with you if I–”

The desperation is pathetic. “Unlike you, I don’t want to hear about it,” Rex says. “Better luck next time. I’m going to go shower.” 

Hardcase sighs, loud and petulant. “C’mon, cap’, some of us are–”

Rex doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that sentence. 

He should have showered at your place. He’d at least have less time to be harassed. And a soft place to put his hands. He bets the shower fall sounds good against the mosaics he caught a glimpse of. Bets your body wash smells better than the regulated one he gets. Bet it foams, just like in the movies. Bets your towels are fluffy, the washcloth he’d used between your thighs had been gentle and delicate and soft and absorbent and he should have just used his mouth. Should have let his tongue lave over your essence and sucked the skin clean. Should have only had to wipe away his own saliva. 

The shower spray is cold. Rex grits his teeth under it.

[isaut]

look at what the beloved @butchizuku made for me…… truly treasuring this forever……. baby’s first art !!!!!!! ofc rex has his khakis on 🤭🤭🤭 #rexlia4ever

[isaut]

googoo gaga over this man. divorcee au

“I never really learned how to dance,” Rex admits. 

The kitchen illuminates the two of you as well as the evening light. Pasta simmers on the stove in front of you, and two fine glasses of wine stand before each of you. Jazz music plays from your record player, which inspired your swaying and Rex’s commentary. 

“No?” You ask. 

“No,” Rex affirms. 

“Not even for your wedding?” 

Rex brings his wine glass to his lips. “No. Just kind of swayed.” 

“That’s a shame,” you say. 

“You like dancing then, I guess.” 

“I love it.” 

There’s a pause. Rex sets down the glass and comes to stand beside you and the hot stove. His hand rests on your lower back, sliding to your hip. 

“You seem like you do.”

You smile, fluttering your lashes up at him. “Do I?” 

Rex nods. “You like a lot of stuff I don’t know about. But I don’t mind. I’m learning.”

You’re learning too. Your pupils turn to hearts when he starts talking about physics over dinner. Blindly, you take his advice when you play Risk and Catan together. 

Arguably speaking, you’ve been much slower to unravel the little bits about you that Rex craves to learn. So much of it had been boxed away over the past year and some, forced away from lack of time, lack of emotional energy, lack of dance partner. 

“I’ll teach you, if you want,” you offer. 

Rex’s eyes light up. “Yeah?” 

You nod. The timer for the pasta goes off, and Rex moves to your other side, hand still lingering on you as you drain the grains and add it to the sauce. 

“‘S easier with some music than others. I think jazz is the easiest.” 

A piece of pasta plops outside of the saucepan as you stir. Rex plucks up the rigatoni and pops it in his mouth. “What makes you say that?” 

You shrug. “Sounds like living, y’know?” 

“I don’t. I haven’t really listened to jazz like that.” 

Turning your head, you regard Rex. Your stirring pauses. “No?” 

“Nah.” 

Your stirring resumes. 

Rex lounges on your couch, cocktail in hand. Leftovers have been tucked away in the fridge, dishes in the dishwasher. You’re crouched before your record player and the collection of records, flipping through them. 

Eventually, you come across a mini record, one with only four songs on it, and lift it up, reading the title just to remind yourself what it is. 

“We’ll start with this,” you say, looking over at Rex. You don’t think he’s moved his gaze from you since he sat down. His eyes are warm, like liquid amber in the low lights. 

“What is it?” Rex asks. 

“This is the Roland Kirk Quartet,” you say, slipping the record onto the turntable, listening to it buzz to life. “I picked it up when I was studying abroad in Cairo.” 

“Really?” Rex asks. 

Nodding, you come to sit beside Rex. He shifts, so his arm spreads out along the back of the couch. 

Rex tilts his head to the side, gaze lingering along your profile. “Were you just buying records?” 

You smile. “Mostly. I was supposed to be learning about the pigments used to decorate sarcophagi. But I spent a lot more time… not doing that.” 

Rex shakes his head and smiles. Takes a sip of his drink, almost in disbelief. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks when he turns back to you, voice a murmur. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, matching his tone, gaze fluttering about his face. 

“You could be anywhere…” but I’m glad you’re here. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit quietly, over trumpets and tapping ride cymbals. “I’m making it up as I go.” 

Rex smiles. The corners of his eyes crease. “I think we all are.” 

Humming, you rest your head to the side. “You think so?” 

“Yeah,” Rex says. “I know so.” 

“You do? How?” 

“We don’t need to get into all of that,” Rex says. “You just have to trust me.” 

“Okay,” you say, all too easily. 

A grin spreads across your face as Rex leans in closer to you. 

“Are you going to teach me to dance, sweetheart? Or just sit here and look pretty?” 

With a hum, you bite your bottom lip for a moment. “You think I’m pretty?” 

“Yeah,” Rex says. “I’d be blind not to.” 

You let the comment linger for a moment. “Can I be honest?” 

“Yeah,” Rex breathes. 

“I don’t know how to teach you to dance.” 

“Who taught you how to dance?” 

Your eyes search Rex’s. “My dad.” 

Rex exhales, relieved. “I thought you were going to say your ex.” 

You laugh, reaching to hold Rex’s arm. “No, thank goodness. Can you imagine?” 

“I was imagining it, and I didn’t like it,” Rex says, matching your smile. 

“I’ll teach you, but I require something in return.” 

“And what is that?”

“A kiss.” You’re so close to Rex now anyways, lips hovering inches away from each other. One grand sway and you’d be attached. 

“Just one?” Rex asks. 

You nod. He bows his head further. His breath ghosts against your lips. You fight the urge to wet your lips. 

His lips press against yours. Firm. Soft. He pulls away with eyes just as soft as yours. 

“Maybe we can just kiss a little bit,” you whisper, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

Rex ducks his head beside you, reaching around you to set his drink on your coffee table. His hand, cool from the condensation, rests on your thigh. 

“Just a little bit,” you repeat. 

“We can kiss for as long as you’d like,” Rex murmurs. “There’s nothing I’d rather do more.” 

With a giggle that sounds far too youthful, you bat your lashes up at him. The hand on your thigh squeezes. 

“I do want to learn to dance,” Rex continues. “I need to be able to keep up with you.” 

You decide, in that moment, that you can kiss him while you dance. Fluidly, you stand, holding out a hand for Rex. He regards it for a moment, then takes it, only to pull you back down on the couch. You go with a gasp. 

Rex stands, smoothing a hand down his front before offering one out to you. 

With a flush high on your cheeks, you take Rex’s hand in your own. He pulls you up, hand resting on your lower back. You loop your hands around his neck, pressing against him. 

Standing on your tiptoes, you press your lips against his once more. 

“There aren’t any rules,” you murmur, shaking your hair back so it falls along your backside. “You just kind of let… Let your body listen.” 

Rex’s hands rest on your hips. You flutter your lashes up. “So what is your body hearing?” 

His body is hearing a lot of things. It’s the blood in his ears, the warmth beneath his fingertips. The gaze down your shirt. The tug of your earrings against your earlobes. 

Sensing his unresponsiveness, you take it upon yourself to make the first move. You press your leg against his, moving it backwards. Rex follows suit, then takes another step backwards. Then forwards. Then again. Then backwards. Then again. 

The rhythm builds. You move in fluid motions together, back and forth, until you pull away from him, leading him to a more open space in your living room, twirling yourself under his arm, pulling back before pulling yourself in. Like breathing. 

“You’re getting the hang of it,” you say, smiling up at Rex. With a hand on his chest, you lean back up to meet him for another kiss. He meets you for it gladly. 

Your shuffling feet come to a standstill, in favor of moving your lips against each other. Gentle, fluid motions. Opening and closing. Like a valve on your heart with every beat. 

“Is this what your body is telling you?” You ask, not bothering to open your eyes, asking the question directly against Rex’s lips. 

He nods. “Yeah.” 

Your fingers scratch against where his buzzed hair meets his neck. Your lips find him again. The jazz music comes to a halt as the record reaches the last note on the A side. Neither of you move from where you’re standing, lips passing against each other. 

One of Rex’s hands trails up to rest on your waist, the other firmly on your hip. You keep your hand firmly on the back of his neck. You don’t actually need to worry about him leaving, but you want all the assurance that he won’t. 

It feels like you’re overstepping a line when your tongue swipes along his lower lip. Hopeful. Lustful. Shy. 

Rex pulls you in closer, arching your back as he responds to the kiss. His mouth opens. He sighs into you. 

It feels wonderful. You need to catch your breath but you don’t care. Instead, you reciprocate tenfold. Press along his body. Ignore the hard points of each other’s bodies in favor of the softness within each other’s mouths. 

Rex’s hand comes to press between your shoulder blades before it lowers back to your waist. He takes a sharp breath as he pulls away, leaving you chasing after him. 

“We were dancing,” Rex breathes. 

You inhale. “Yeah, we were.” 

Dancing could have multiple meanings. 

“Let’s keep going.” 

You do. Your feet move alongside Rex’s light as a feather. Your fingers interlock and separate– Rex likes spinning you. Likes when your back is against his chest, likes when you’re smiling up at him. Likes how easy going you look, how relieved. How carefree, how joyous. 

He wonders if you feel loved. Because he feels it, exploding from his chest. It’s almost overwhelming, how much love he feels. Feels wrong, to some degree. 

Eventually, when the two of you collapse back onto the couch, with your legs over Rex’s, and your bodies too close, Rex closes his eyes. Leans his head back, takes deep breaths of the candle-hinted air. 

Neither of you say a word. Instead, you bask in the silence. In the steady breaths. 

You debate inviting Rex to spend the night. You have a guest bedroom. You have your bedroom. Your bed. 

Instead, you say goodbye to him at your door. Steal another kiss while the door is closed, as if someone would see the two of you in your bubbling summertime romance phase. And when the door is open, you wave to him, still in the clothes you put on just for him to come over. He waves back, and keeps glancing over his shoulder as he walks back to his truck. 

You don’t close the door until he’s at the stop sign. Until he turns left, and out of your sight.

[isaut]

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆— f!reader x captain rex. divorcee au.

The night is over. Rex pulls into your driveway, and you’ve had just one glass too many. You need to drink a Gatorade. You hope you still have Gatorade. The girls are gone for the summer so you’re not sure.

“Walk me inside?” You ask, looking over at Rex. The floodlights of your house catch on the high points of his face.

“‘Course,” he says, shutting off his truck and climbing out. You slip out of the passenger seat before he can help you out.

There’s no stumbling in your walk. You can just feel the alcohol in your brain.

“Your friends are fun,” you say, unlocking your front door.

“They’re your friends too,” Rex says.

There’s still doubt at that statement, even though you’ve hung out with everyone without Rex. On the weekends where he has his kids. Instead of responding, you kick off your shoes and turn towards Rex, waiting for him to do the same.

“Am I— Oh.” Rex follows suit, leaving his trainers in the foyer. You head towards the kitchen and he follows, leaving your purse on the counter and opening the fridge.

Maybe you should eat something too.

Instead, you pull out a Gatorade. Looking over your shoulder, you raise it up at him. “Want one?”

They’re the blue ones.

“Sure,” Rex says, leaning against your kitchen island.

Your home is lavish. Large. There’s more than enough space for you and the girls. He’s watched it become more and more personal as you slowly accumulate accouterments to decorate.

From the fridge, you also pull out a Tupperware of buffalo chicken dip from the hosting you’d done the other night. The Wheat Thins are still on the counter from where you had been snacking earlier.

“Drink too much?” Rex asks, coming around to be on the same side as you.

You glance at him, cracking open the Gatorade.

“I’m just being cautious.”

Rex hums, reaching around you to close the fridge as it starts to beep. The notes of his cologne wash over you.

“Sure,” he says.

“I have a big day tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Rex says. He’s noticed you do this— When you get a little out of line: when you order the medium margarita instead of the small on a Friday night, when you ask Rex to pick up Rosamond for baseball practice, when you get french fries instead of salad.

“I do, though. I’m going to lay out by the pool. And make paella.”

“I meant—”

“I know. And I appreciate it,” you say, cutting him off. So what if it’s a habit you picked up from your failed marriage? “You should come over tomorrow.”

“Should I?” Rex asks, taking a Wheat Thin and dipping it in the dip.

You nod. “I have gelato.”

You have everything to make your house the perfect place to host of all ages. For adults you make mojitos and charcuterie boards and Alex (Rex’s son) is always singing praises about how you have the mini cans of Coke and have Cheetos and for dinner everyone makes their own pizza.

However, Rex doesn’t need to be bribed with the treats you offer. He’d come even if your fridge was empty. Even if your pool was drained. Even if the stereo was out. Even if there were no more board games. Even if there was nothing else to do but sit on the ground and talk to you.

“Want me to bring anything?” Rex asks.

You hum in thought. “Just you.”

“I can do that,” Rex says.

It’s thirty minutes later when you’re walking him out. You say your goodbyes too close, hand on the doorknob.

Rex is only a few inches away from you. His eyes dart down to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I should go,” he says.

“Yeah.” There’s disappointment in your voice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Rex promises.

“What time is it?” You ask.

Rex looks at his watch. “It’s 10:43.”

Humming, you let your gaze drop down to his chest before back up. “Maybe we can get breakfast in the morning. At the diner.”

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t do anything more to encourage the fluttery feeling in your chest. Truly, Rex shouldn’t even come over tomorrow. Not when he’s without friends or children.

“You want to?” Rex asks. There’s a low murmur to his voice. There’s an unsung I want to that follows.

You nod.

Rex’s eyes dart all over your face, as if searching for something. “Call me in the morning, then.”

You pout. “You won’t just pick me up at nine?”

Rex smiles at that. A gentle smile. “Wouldn’t want you to be too hungover.”

“I won’t be,” you assure him. “I just had some electrolytes and some food.”

“You going to apologize when you order pancakes?”

You bite your bottom lip. “You going to be mad when I do?”

“Could never be mad at you,” Rex murmurs.

You sigh, resting your head against the open door.

“I should go. Don’t want any bugs getting inside,” Rex says. He doesn’t sound like he wants to leave.

“Do you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That you could never be mad at me?” You hate the way your voice sounds, all small. Hinging on whatever his response is.

“Yeah. I mean it.”

You smile softly at that. “Okay. Drive safe.”

Rex chuckles and steps out of your house. “Call me, and we can get breakfast. Don’t want to show up and you’re still asleep.”

“Okay,” you say, playing with the doorknob. You don’t mention he’d know when you woke up if he slept over. But you don’t.

Instead, you watch as Rex gets back in his truck. He waves at you, which you return, then shuts the door. The headlights illuminate your garage. You only head inside once he’s pulled out of the driveway.