the usual?
rex splode x bartender!reader word count: 3691 maddie's scribbles: y'all wanted fluff, you got fluff. also, a vintage car. happy valentine's day ♡
Saturday’s the busiest day at the bar, everyone knows that.
Glasses clinking in a happy tone, dirty tables full, laughter rolling off the walls, smoke curling by the ceiling like clouds.
Valentine’s day’s another hefty shift, for different reasons though.
The bar's half-empty, there are no toasts, there’s little to no chatter.
And it’s mostly middle-aged men sipping beer or whisky alone.
So when this year Valentine’s Day rolls on a Saturday, marking your shift, you don’t know what to expect, or what time you’ll be done. And you hate days like these, especially if your regular doesn’t come.
It’s not like he is your favourite customer, he’s way too direct with his compliments, too overbearing with his flirting, too brave with his looks down your cleavage or legs. But he is good company, cracking jokes, gossipping about his work (you only listen, of course)—what’s not to like?
Much later than you’d prefer, you’re finally nearing the end of your shift, with only a few people left, quiet chatter filling the space. The dimmed ceiling lights sparkle and bounce around all decor mirrors hanging on the walls. You inspect the tables and estimate how much time until the last guest leaves; maybe 30 minutes or so left, not counting in the closing though.
You let the other bartender leave earlier as they were rushing for a late-night date with their partner. The counter on your side needs some tidying, bottles of liquor scattered around; wet, clean glasses waiting to be put on the shelves. You announce the last call and get to work, starting with arranging all the bottles.
When you’re drying up the last tumbler, a familiar sound nears your bar. It’s the heavy thud of his boots.
Finally.
Smiling, you look up to see the dark forest of his eyes, sparkling with the usual mischief. He grabs the counter and leans towards you, winking.
“Missed me?”
“In your dreams,” you scoff, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.
Rex didn’t have a routine when it came to dropping by the bar. Sometimes you didn’t see him for weeks, other times he would come in five days in a row. Always showing up at different times of day—or night.
“You didn’t make it to the last call,” you say, swiping the countertop dry, trying to stay busy and not swoon under his intense gaze. “I already closed the bar.”
“Oh, come on,” he whines, making pleading eyes, “wouldn’t you make an exception for your favourite client?”
You dart your eyes over his face, then over the clean bar. A sigh gets past your lips; you cave in—how could you not?
“Order now or you’re gonna go to bed without a drink.”
Rex gives you a once over, cocking his brow up with an irresistible grin on his face.
“I like it when you’re like that.”
Your brows furrow in confusion over your pretty eyes, “Like what?”
His forearms land on the bartop, fingers interlaced, moving in closer to you.
“Bossing me around.” His voice drops an octave, rumbling deliciously in his throat.
You open your mouth, then close it, not sure what to say, more occupied with the way your cheeks get hot. A small, nervous chuckle is the only thing that gets out of you as you reach for a whiskey bottle.
“The usual?”
“You know me so well, princess.”
A gentle smile tugs at your lips as you ready his drink. It’s not like every guest can call you that, or any other pet names at that. If this was anyone else, you’d be kicking them out of the bar in seconds, threatening them with a shotgun placed strategically above the mini fridges if they weren’t willing to leave after one warning.
“So,” he starts, always so casual, it makes you double guess his clear interest in you, “busy day?”
“I don’t even wanna talk about it,” you sigh, darting eyes around the almost empty bar. “Saturday and Valentine’s Day happened to be the same evening.”
“Shit, right. Completely forgot,” he huffs, swirling the glass in his hands, ice clinking against it, “so it’s me, the lonely losers and alcoholics.”
“So just the alcoholics, you mean,” you tease, resting your hands on the countertop, looking him dead in the eye.
“Ouch,” Rex grins from behind his glass, taking a slow swig.
He drinks the rest of his drink in silence, never taking his big, green eyes off you, watching carefully your every move, just as if trying to burn into memory every twitch of your muscles working the bar, the way your hips sway as you put strainers away, how your shirt rides up when you reach the top shelf for new napkins.
The last guest leaves the bar, holding up a hand goodbye and you wave back, smiling warmly. When the door clicks shut behind them, it’s just you and Rex left. It’s not the first time it happens, but for some reason tonight it feels different.
Normally, he’d be telling you impossible to believe stories of his life as a Guardian, the celebrity gossip he claims to have insider info on, and about the strange places he’s visited around the world. Yet today, he’s rather quiet for himself, letting his darkened eyes speak for him instead.
After he finishes his drink, he hands you the glass. When you grab it, he adds his other hand on top of yours, pulling you gently closer. “Any plans for later?”
You glance down at where his skin touches yours and notice he’s not wearing his gloves like he usually does. His palms are very warm to the touch, sending a burning spark down up your arm.
“Fainting in bed,” you respond heavily, lingering before taking the glass away. Why did he have to ask this today, out of all nights? This is just your luck.
“Whose bed?” Rex drawls, voice low and smooth like velvet.
“Only mine.” Fuck. “I mean—mine, just mine.”
He only chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, before he gets up. “Then I’m taking you out.”
“What? Where?” Your voice comes an octave higher, blood rushing to your cheeks. You clear your throat, and mutter, “That’s nice of you, but I’m so tired—”
“Wouldn’t like a beautiful woman like you spending Valentine’s Day alone,” he comments, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. The not-so-direct suggestion sits heavy on your chest, mind still weighing options, when your heart has already made the decision for you, a long time ago.
“So it’s a pity date?” You question him before you can bite your tongue. Why are you like this? The quiet of the empty bar highlights his silence, and you don’t realize you’re tensing your muscles until he finally speaks.
“So it’s a date?” Rex raises a brow, cocky smirk on his lips.
With a fake irritated eye-roll, you sigh, “You won’t let go, won’t you?”
Breath catches in your throat when he almost jumps over the bar, so close to your face you can examine every scar, every freckle, each speck in his eye—
“Would you like me to?”
And then he waits, half-draped over the countertop, staring at you with such intensity you don’t realize you’re still holding your breath, when you finally let it go.
“No.”
“Good,” he jumps off and grabs his jacket, “Then I’ll be outside. Don’t keep me waiting long, though.”
The only thing you can do is nod, following him with your eyes as he walks off. He glances at you briefly before he’s out, and you can finally take a big, deep breath, resting your hand dramatically on your chest like a Victorian woman seeing a rat.
Quickly glancing around the whole place, assessing the bar’s state for tomorrow’s shift, you decide it’s good enough and grab your coat and bag.
As you turn off the lights on your way, you wonder if he has a car. And what kind. Or a motorcycle, maybe? He seems like the type. His combat gear may well double as motorcycle wear.
Crisp winter air hits you when the doors close behind you with a bang. Rex is nowhere to be seen. Panic starts slowly creeping up your neck, nostrils flaring. Could he really roll you like that? Did you misunderstand this whole bar encounter? Does he really come to this hellhole just for you?
Tires screeching loudly by your feet take you out your head. You look up, only to see him leaning out from a red Mustang 1969, elbow resting on the opened window.
“Get in or you’re gonna freeze, darling,” he grins, cocking up a brow.
“Right, yeah,” you mumble, walking the car around from the back, admiring how the paint shines in the moonlight. “Where we goin’?” You ask, putting on your seatbelt. To your surprise, you notice he has his fastened as well. He’s either a sane, ruly driver, or—
All air is knocked out of your lungs as your back melts with the seat, and you clutch the cockpit and the door for your dear life as he speeds off, leaving smoke behind.
“Don’t worry,” Rex laughs, one hand on the wheel, the other rolling up the window. “I’m an amazing driver.”
You don’t trust people who call themselves that. Actually, do you even trust him at all? How are you sure he’s not gonna take you somewhere outside town, or worse—right to his place?
“I’m not gonna hurt you, doll,” he says just if he could read your mind. “I’m law enforcement, remember?”
“Yeah,” you glance at him, getting your footing back. “That’s what worries me.”
“Relax,” he mocks, “we’re not gonna do anything you won’t like.”
You scoff, enjoying it more than being afraid. “You don’t even know what I like.”
“True,” Rex laughs and glances at you quickly before looking back at the road ahead. “So, what do you like?”
“Creative specialty cocktails,” you reply in a blink of an eye. It’s not like you had the answer ready before he asked.
Or even before tonight.
“Say less,” he chuckles and guns it to make the yellow light.
Even though you shouldn’t, you’re still surprised when the sheer speed pushes you into the seat, a small yelp slipping past your lips. “But can we actually make it in one piece?”
“I already told you.” Rex drags the vowels, mock-irritated. He must’ve heard something similar many times before. “I’m a great driver.”
“Doesn’t look like it.” Your voice is thinner than you intended, and instantly your cheeks burn hot despite the cold seeping into the car from the outside. Glancing at him, you can’t help but smile yourself when you see his eat-shitting grin playing at his mouth.
“I didn’t say I drive cautiously, sweetie.”
You can’t think of a comeback fast enough, and why would you? He’s not lying—he is a great driver, just… Not a safe one. It should mutually exclude each other, yet weirdly, in his case, it doesn’t. So all you give him is an eyeroll and a short exhale through your nose.
With the first shock gone, your body relaxes against the leather seats, hands flat on your thighs. Looking past the window, eyes darting between window displays of shops and bars, you enjoy the ride and the surprisingly comfortable silence.
Now that you think about it, why is it silent?
You’d expect a man like him, with a car like this, to be listening to music at the highest volume while speeding through the snow-clad streets. Without thinking too much more about this, you turn on the vintage radio. It comes to life with a jingle of your favourite radio station, and if you were still looking for good signs, this one seals the deal.
When a familiar beat comes from the speakers, you laugh, sound vibrant and careless, turning your head to Rex, leaning on the cockpit with your arm. “Man, I haven’t heard this song in ages!”
“Me neither.” His voice is laced with quiet appreciation, for your taste, or maybe just for the music. “Guess we have more in common than I thought.”
You only hum in response, mirroring the recognition of shared favourites. When the car gradually slows down, the engine roaring quieter now, your heart skips a beat.
This is it.
Glancing outside the window, you admire the valentine-theme decorated street; warm shades of hearts, bows and flowers standing out against the cold, icy-blue snow and ice covering the low buildings.
Rex parks his Mustang deliberately, with utmost care, a stark contrast to his driving style. The sidewalks are busy with couples holding hands, kissing and laughing in front of the bars and restaurants. You quickly realize he took you to one of the fanciest parts of town, where the evening’s total can be very easily worth your month’s rent.
He takes the key out of the ignition and turns to you, cutting the radio mid-song, and throws his arm on the headrest. There’s a silence between you again, this time more palpable and meaningful than before. His eyes drag along your figure, stopping for a second longer on your hands, neck and eyes. Blush creeps up your cheeks—this feels way too intimate, almost like admiration; you’d prefer that he stared at your chest, hips or lips.
A smirk tugs at his lips, he got you where he wanted. Not a word from him when he gets out of the car, walks it around from the back and opens your door. Rex reaches a hand out to you, a charming move you wouldn’t ever expect from a man like him. But then again, you don’t know that much about him.
You take his hand and step out, trying not to drown in an ankle-deep snow. Peeking at the logos and entries to famous bars and restaurants, you feel a lump of shame growing in your throat. You’re still standing next to his car when Rex starts walking, beckoning at you to join him when he realizes you’re not moving.
You swallow thick and utter, “I can’t afford—” but you fumble when he stops at your words.
Rex turns and strides towards you, raising his brows, shaking his head with a tender smile.
“I’m taking you out, babe. Now take my arm and walk with me.”
It’s not like you can say no to that.
And even if you wanted to, you’re completely tongue-tied. So you do as you’re told and hook your arm through his, strolling towards an unknown, but surely very expensive place. Maybe he just wants to impress you. Not like he needs to, of course. You’re a woman of simple pleasures; a charming smile and playful eyes is more than enough to win your interest.
“Best damn cocktails in town,” Rex notes as he opens the door for you.
Stepping inside, you’re instantly swept off your feet — the interior’s dark and moody; classy, but not snobby. Velvet booths with candles on each table, sultry beats quietly coming from the speakers and lively chatter. The place is packed, barely any seats left if not for a few spots by the bar. It’s mostly tipsy couples leaning to each other, whispering secrets and declarations.
It’s perfect for a date; even better for an unexpected one.
“Guess you like it, huh?” He grins, taking your coat off your shoulders. You glance at him from behind, fluttering your lashes with a slowly growing smirk. You’re in your element again— if there’s one place you can always feel at home, no matter what town or country you’re in, it’ll be a bar.
“Like it?” You grin, stepping into his space. “I love it! I’ve always wanted to come to this spot.”
Rex comes even closer, and his voice drops low when he speaks, “That so?”
“I’ve heard great things about their seasonal menu.”
He mirrors your expression and after a charged moment of looking into each other’s eyes, he takes your hand, leading you into the heart of the crowd.
“You look like you might be a Facts and Figures kinda gal,” Rex points to a drink on the menu card when you’re both seated by the bar counter.
Scanning the ingredients quickly, you immediately recognize the cocktail to be a Black Manhattan variation; instead of the usual orange bitter, there’s a walnut one. There’s also high-class cognac and fig syrup. Overall, an intriguing twist to a classic.
You gaze up at him from the card and your eyes meet again. And it’s like electricity travels through your veins when it hits you; you’re really on a date with your secret crush, your favourite regular, at one of your dream bars. For a second his eyes flick down to your mouth when it parts ever so slightly, but they’re back up before you could register.
“Do I, now?” You tilt your head and smirk before sliding him the menu. “I’ll have it, then.”
His fingers graze yours when he reaches for the card, the touch far from accidental, with how long he lingers before taking his hand away. Rex waves a hand, trying to catch the attention of one of the bartenders on this busy night. He manages to order after a while, getting for himself a non-alcoholic version of whiskey sour. Man’s got a favourite, and you gotta respect the consistency.
“Why not take a regular one?” You turn to him, crossing your legs, your foot dangerously close to his shin.
Rex shifts, his calf brushing on yours. “I still gotta drive you home, don’t I?”
Your only reply is an approving smirk; you’d want nothing more than that. Maybe only trumped by getting driven to his home.
Soon enough, your drinks arrive. Excellent and fast service, you think, especially tonight.
“Cheers,” Rex clinks his glass on yours and not taking his eyes off you, takes a swig of his sour. You mirror him and try your cocktail, curious how the changed recipe will taste.
The sharp bite of rye whiskey mixes seamlessly with the earthy and bittersweet flavour of walnut. The aftertaste is full and fresh, the taste of ripe peach and jasmin left on your tongue. As a whole, the cocktail is smooth and boozy.
As you put the coupe glass down, licking off remnants of the drink from your lips, you can’t help the genuine smile— when you said you wanted creative specialty cocktails, Rex has listened and delivered.
“Great choice,” you approve, leaning closer to him, partially forced by the sheer volume of the bar, and partially because you simply can’t resist the pull towards him.
Rex measures you with his eyes from above his glass, before talking straight to your ear, voice deliciously, dangerously low.
“So no regrets?”
Tingles run down your spine when the vibrations of his voice hit against your skin. You move away just enough to look at him through half-lidded eyes, giggling.
“I’m drinking one of the best cocktails I’ve ever had in my entire life, invited by my favourite client to the best bar in town. What’s there to regret?”
Rex glances between your beautiful eyes and plush lips before resting his hand on yours, dropping all pretense out the window.
“I’m glad I could take my favourite bartender out, so she could be served instead of serving, for once.”
“And I’m glad we’re each other’s favourites.”
“Yeah,” he adds after a moment of charged looks and buzzing silence. “Me too.”
After that, conversation flows easily; the emptier your glass is, the bolder you are with flirting and the faintest touches. And it’s not like he’s staying behind, now. Quite the contrary—every glance of yours is met with him crowding your space more, every touch of your foot along his shin rewards you with him drawing abstract shapes with his fingers on your wrist.
The space between you shrinks with every sip, every sweet word of his, every quip of yours; the tension’s pulled taut, threatening to snap any minute now.
“Care for another one?” Rex points at your empty glass with which you’ve been playing for the past half an hour.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
He raises a brow before saying anything, playful smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Mama, I would never,” Rex gasps, mock-offended. “And it’s not like I need to, do I?”
Your mouth flies open, his brash words raising the temperature of your face and neck. He’s clearly loving the effect it has on you, that shit-eating grin growing wide. And it’s like he’s lit a fire inside you, daring you even more.
“What do you think?”
“I’m thinking it’s time I take you home, you must be dead tired already.”
You bite on your bottom lip—he’s not wrong, you could fall asleep right here, right now. But you also don’t want this night to end, not yet at least.
You’re still unsatisfied, tired of waiting. You’re in need of fulfilling each and every fantasy you had with him as soon as possible. And that’s definitely not him driving you to your place already.
“I’m not sure…”
Rex gazes at you quietly, when suddenly, he cups your cheek tilting your head to the right and closes the distance.
The first feeling of his rough lips on yours sends a shock through your body, your eyes fully widening before closing heavily, and you lean into the sour taste lingering on his mouth. The kiss doesn’t last longer than a few seconds, yet it has told you more than countless hours of talking ever could.
“Did that do the trick?”
“Yes,” you laugh, the sound a mix between shock and awe. “No. Maybe.”
He’s on his feet, already with your coat in his hand, stretching the other toward you.
“Then let’s just get out of here, princess.”
You take his hand and jump off the barstool, letting him put your coat on your shoulders, feeling the warmth of his hands seeping through the thick layer of your garment.
“And what happens after?”
Rex winks at you, holding the door open for you as you step outside to the freezing cold of the night.
“Nothing you wouldn’t like.”
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