my tags:
#maddie's asks - my ask box replies
#maddie’s requests - self explanatory
#maddie's reading list - my digital library
#maddie yaps - my thoughts
#maddie's midnight snacks - nsfw/sexual content (other's or mine)
content : mark grayson x fem reader ,, instagram smau ,, texting smau ,, extreme fluff ,, bsfs to lovers ,, definitely not a slowburn ,, eve is readers bsf ,, THE POSTS ARE MADE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT DAYS ,, may be ooc .
ARLA YAP : had to switch back and forth to instagram then on here, this is kinda a special post for me having 100+ followers! i’m extremely grateful i didn’t think people would like my writing, i only started publishing my work on here as an escape from my life (sigh yes it’s true) but seeing that i actually make people abit happier with my work makes me extremely happy— cornfield get out arlaaa😒😒 but i hope you guys enjoy.
@/yourusername 2 days ago
❤️ 128 || 💭 10 || 🔁 2
liked by @/markgrayson and others
eve said she couldn’t hang out today so i had to hang out with mark instead..😒 @/markgrayson
@/evewilkens ﹕ obsessed with these pics tho!! ⸝⸝ ❤️ by author
@/yourusername ㆍ Author ﹕ thank you bby🥹🥹
@/evewilkins ﹕ i’m sorryyy sigh..
@/user9-5 ﹕ wait i ship
@/yourusername ㆍ Author ﹕ never comment again😂
@/markgrayson ﹕ you were laughing at literally ALL my jokes?? stop acting like you hated it 🤦🏻
@/yourusername ㆍ Author ﹕ stop lying Mark.
⤷ @/markgrayson ﹕ oh! ok mama😁 ⸝⸝ ❤️ by author
@/rexsloan ﹕ what the hell is this comment section.
@/user45 ﹕ he called her mama 👀
@/markgrayson 2 days ago
❤️ 186 || 💭 7 || 🔁 1
liked by @/yourusername and others
we also made cookies if anyone cares🙂↕️ (by we i mean my mum) @/yourusername
@/yourusername ﹕ when did you take the second photo ??
@/markgraysonㆍ Author ﹕ when you were trying to blind
yourself with the sun, you looked good.
⤷ @/yourusername ﹕ did Mark graySON just
compliment me???
@/evewilkens ﹕ see you didnt need me 🤞🏻 ⸝⸝ ❤️ by author
@/williamclockwell ﹕ i have many things to say about this.
@/ricksheridan ﹕ no one here seems to have mentioned the last picture so i’m assuming it’s normal..?
⤷ @/williamclockwell ﹕ i’ve told him to ask her out🙄
@/yourusername 1 day ago
❤️ 144 || 💭 15 || 🔁 0
FINALLY got her to come out with me PHEWWW, had such a great girls day!! @/evewilkens
liked by @/evewilkens and others
@/evewilkens ﹕ let’s crack bro😭😭😂 ⸝⸝ ❤️ by author
@/yourusername ㆍ Author ﹕ ur dad scares me let’s not.
fantastic. i love it. i posted this after my wife said it yesterday and as i was doing it i was like "this can't be an original thought. as soon as i hit post someone's going to say 'you stole this from a tweet from 2014' and i'll say 'no, i stole it from my beautiful wife.'"
summary: Mission prep goes entirely smooth. Too smooth.
rex splode x female reader
warnings and tags: MDNI, self-indulgent, canon divergence, kinda slow burn-ish in reverse?, love triangle, kinda in-between chapter, Cecil is not so bad but also kind of awful, Donald must be protected at all costs
word count: 4995
maddie's scribbles: i'm so sorry it took so long. i had an almost 9k words unfinished version of this chapter-track that would end up being like 12k when completed. which, for not a final chapter? is insane. even for me. but thanks to the wonderful help of @/queen-of-gotham and @/cheeyan i decided to split it into two. so next track is already almost fully written. also, happy (extremely) belated one year anniversary to the playlist fic!
Track 28
The playlist
"You're still here?"
Cecil states more than asks when you enter his office the next day, this time more cordially, knocking and waiting to be let in like the good agent that you are. The office hasn't changed much over the decade or so you've been with the GDA. It's neat and clean, but lacking warmth in the way the Director's icy blue eyes make everyone shiver. The space could belong to anyone, practically nothing revealing the true owner of the vast, ebony desk, if not for Donald's portrait photo set in the centrepiece of the floor to ceiling cabinet.
"About that—" you clear your throat, rubbing the back of your neck, "since I'm gonna have training onsite, I can't fly between Utah and D.C. every day."
The Director glances at you once from his tablet. It's a quick one, but you notice how his face muscles ease, thankful it's not one of your usual tantrums. "Done. Donald will give you the keys and the address."
His tone is final in the way that tells you it's time to leave, but you linger, still not done with your requests. Despite his offer, you start fidgeting with the skin around your nails before continuing, "I still need to get my stuff from the HQ."
Again, he takes one swift peek at you, then answers, sight glued to the tablet. "I can teleport you back and forth with a 30 minute window in between."
"That's not what I want," you take a step closer, trying to keep your tone measured and polite enough to not start another fight. Maybe it's your brand, what everyone expects of you, but you just don't have the energy for it anymore. And no, cuddling with Rex had absolutely nothing to do with that.
"I hate being teleported," you add a bit louder when the man doesn't reply. "Plus, it's more expensive than a jet ride."
Cecil sighs, but presses on his earpiece anyway, not gracing you with another glance and barks out orders to whoever is on the line. Possibly poor Donald. "In exactly 45 minutes you have to be on the roof."
"Thank you, Cecil." You give the Director a small smile, even though he's not even looking at you.
"Hey, kid?" His voice comes from behind your back when your hand is already on the cold, smooth door handle.
"Yeah?" You look at him over your shoulder. The tablet is now on the desk, his fingers intertwined below his chin resting on them, his icy blue eyes measured, scanning your face intently. It's usually followed by something you don't want to, but have to hear.
"This is your chance to prove yourself again."
There it is.
Your gaze drops to the carpet, then back up to Cecil, your eyes focused and steady.
"I know."
"Hey, Rex." The mattress dips under your weight, your hand finding his warm shoulder, shaking it gently, still feeling like he's a porcelain doll that will break if you even look at it wrong. "Wake up."
"Huh?" The redhead grumbles, soft hum of the heart monitor accompanying him, peering at you with a sleep heavy gaze. Red locks now reach his eyebrows when swept forward from tossing around the hospital bed. The speed with which it grows back doesn't cease to amaze you. Perks of being an artificially enhanced super human.
"I'm leaving soon—no, wait." Warmth of his soft lips and hot breath tickles your palm, as you raise your hand to cover his mouth, his brows already furrowed with worry and sadness that sits heavy between your ribs. "Let me finish. I'll be back in a few hours. D.C. is going to be my home for the next month or so, and then I'll be able to see you almost every day."
That seems to shake whatever sleepiness was still holding onto him. The bed sheets fall off his thighs when he abruptly sits up. His dark, green eyes glimmering with joy, grin so wide you forget for a few moments about everything that has weighed down on you for the last couple months. "For real?"
"Yeah," you smile, smoothing your hand down his arm. "I'm attending prep for my operation, along with my new partner."
From the hallway, quiet conversation of the nurses taking their break by the whirring coffee machine can be heard, filling the wordless space between you until he interrogates, "Partner?" Rex stiffens under your palm. "A man or a woman?"
Instead of answering openly, you tilt your head to the side, your gaze flickering over his face as you try to make out what's bubbling underneath. "What difference does it make?"
"So it's a guy," the redhead huffs, turning his head away from you. Doing your best to remain neutral, you bite down on your lips. It would be a lie to say you didn't miss that part of him.
"Rex, it's strictly professional," a chuckle almost gets out, but you manage to swallow it down. "Plus, I've only met him yesterday."
"Is he handsome?" Rex glances at you before fixing his gaze back on the wall.
"Angelic," you let out and exaggerated sigh, resting the back of your palm on your forehead.
"Oh, come on," he whines, dropping his arms, defeated, "he can't be hotter than me."
A wide, cocky grin stretches from cheek to cheek on your face when you tout, "Debatable."
Rex gasps, mock-offended, but doesn't say anything. Only looks at you, his emerald eyes holding answers to questions you're not ready to ask just yet. Nor are you certain you'll ever find the courage to ask them.
"Can you remind me when's the surgery?" After a few beats pass, you inquire, now in a softer, more genuine tone. Back and forth with him feels like a lungful of air, but even too much oxygen can be dangerous.
"In two days," he grumbles, visibly fighting a smile, crossing his arms over his chest theatrically. The corner of your lips lift up; he's so insanely adorable like that. Jealous, boyish, worried. You squeeze his toned, warm arm, reassuring smile growing on your face. "I'll be there then."
Rex puts his only palm on yours, the skin much softer than you remember, the callouses and roughness gone with the time he's spent in the hospital. The sudden affection makes a breath catch in your throat when he replies, for once with a sincere upturn of his lips, "You better."
The GDA apartments are always decorated the same way—minimalist, industrial, bare. Rex would hate it here, whining the place has no soul and character.
Which is exactly the way it was intended to be. You're not supposed to feel like at home here. It's not a place to settle down and start living a mundane, ordinary life. It's just a government granted hotel, a place to keep some form of separation between work and private life. Despite that, you can't even bring anyone here, not unless they are an agent themselves.
Music from your recent playlist fills the space as you unpack unhurriedly. You still have this day for yourself before you have to start the intense trainings. Even though you shouldn't, you imagine yourself living here full time. Everything is placed and displayed as if it was truly your place. Some sense of normalcy is needed in this crazy, superhero slash GDA agent life.
When you get out of the shower, you turn off the music and turn the TV on, curious to see what's the state of legacy media nowadays. As expected, it disappoints you—headlines trying to catch your attention and make you angry, grouping people into 'for' and 'against' with zero space for nuance. The TV screen shuts off with a quiet hum as it goes pitch black, and you're glad that you don't have television in the Guardian's HQ.
It's high time you throw on your comfiest pyjamas and settle in bed with a good book or a comfort movie. The last time you watched anything was Twilight with Rex. It's tempting, but seeing it again in such a short amount of time would ruin the charm. So you settle on the next best thing, and put on Mean Girls.
Halfway through the film, there's a knock on the apartment door. You pause it with a quiet curse under your nose, it's the best damn part and someone just ruined it. Besides, no one knows you're here, and you sure as hell didn't order anything.
As you pad toward the entrance, you hesitate, but in the end take out the Glock Donald provided you with, and check the clip. It's full.
It's been ages since you handled a gun, but you know you can't risk revealing your identity by using your powers. Being a public person now has its limitations, and you're not sure Cecil has actually thought it through planting you on the team. The footsteps you take towards the entrance are silent, thanks to the combination of your socks and soft carpet.
"Who's there?" You ask, voice firm and loud.
"It's Blackwood."
You pass a surprised exhale through your nose. It sure as hell does sound like him, that southern accent is unmistakable. Still, to be entirely sure, you glance through the visor. It really is him.
When you open the door, he takes half a step forward, but backs out when he sees you're already in your sleeping attire. He also looks much more casual now. Gone is the sharp, smart suit he was wearing yesterday. Today it's just loose fitting jeans and a shirt with rolled up sleeves thrown over a band tee, and a faint, lingering smell of his cologne. The scent is fresh and sharp, politely but firmly saying 'I know what I'm doing'.
"What are you doing here?" There's genuine surprise in your voice. He's absolutely the last person you were expecting to see tonight. He shifts his stance, realizing he didn't prep for this question. Rookie mistake. "Heard they moved you here."
"They did." The doorframe feels cool to the touch when you rest your shoulder against it, crossing your arms over your chest. "It doesn't answer my question though."
There's a heavy silence after that, if not for the rattle of the AC in your bedroom. Thomas is avoiding your line of sight as you stare right at him, simply standing there in front of you.
"I live in this building," Blackwood breaks the silence first, half-apologetic smile on his face.
"And so do many other agents," you notice, tone sharper than you intended.
His shoulder slump an inch as a faint blush creeps up his neck towards his ears. "Well, I just wanted to say hi."
The contrast between the dull, lifeless hallway of the GDA apartment building and his casual attire, along with the surprise show-up at your door forces you to reevaluate yours and his intentions. Maybe the walls you've been carrying around yourself have no purpose here.
"Hi," you smile and his cheeks turn an even darker shade of red. It's kinda adorable, and you feel satisfaction with the way he reacts towards you. Just like someone else you know.
"And I also thought—"
"There it is," you quietly cut in, mumbling the words under your nose, smirk sharpening.
"—it's a Friday night. Our prep tomorrow doesn't start until 10 AM. Which, for the GDA standards, is like late afternoon."
That earns him a chuckle, a genuine one, not the polite bullshit people do.
"But I guess you've already called it a night," he points with his chin at your attire.
You glance to the floor, wiggling your toes in your fuzzy, hot pink socks. "I'm watching Mean Girls in bed."
"Great film," Blackwood perks up, his posture loosening up, confidence laced in his voice. "Iconic, even."
Both of your brows raise up to your hairline, genuinely and positively surprised. At last, someone who knows the classics. "So you have good taste in cinema."
"Oh, I think I have great taste in a lot of things." The blond man smirks, leaning with his hand on the wall, his body moving closer to yours. Only when he finishes talking you realize you've caught the bait. Might as well go with it. A little friendly flirting has never hurt nobody.
"Oh yeah? Like what?" you lift a brow, your lip corners curling up.
"You can learn about it more if you let me take you out for drinks tonight."
"Listen, I—"
"Wait, before you say no." The man lifts his hands, open palms up. "I'm still new to the GDA and I haven't really met anyone. You're my first ops partner and… I just would like to get to know you. So we can work better together, as a team."
You would never expect such a charismatic, handsome man to drop down to pitiful begging. But it works. There's no way you can say no to that gorgeous face.
"Alright," you agree after only a few moments of pondering. "Give me twenty minutes."
"I'll wait down in the lobby."
The moment Blackwood sees you out the elevator, his brows shoot up, eyes dragging slowly from your toes to the tip of your head.
"Wow, you look… different."
"Did you think I'd go out in my pyjamas?" A laugh gets past you, stopping at a safe, wider distance from him. Instead of coming closer to you, he remains in his spot, only shifting his weight, keeping a respectful, safe space between you.
"It's just that so far I have only seen you in fluffy slippers and fuzzy socks."
"Ah, yeah." A breathy chuckle comes, as you tuck some of your hair behind your ear. "Well, Cecil dragged me to the Pentagon with only a fifteen minute heads up. And I didn't know I'd be meeting new agents. Otherwise—"
"You'd have worn something like this?" He cuts in, his gaze stopping for a second too long at your bare legs. The outfit is a little bit too revealing for government standards. But great for a casual night out. It's been ages since you've had an opportunity to dress up. The last time was… No, you don't want to think about that night right now.
"Rather a button-up and slacks."
"You must be pretty important to be able to casually walk around the GDA in a zip-up," he notes, holding the building door open for you.
"Let's just say…" you pause, breathy, looking at the man over your shoulder with an unnecessary weight, "I have a special working relationship with Cecil."
"I assume you can't talk about this?" Blackwood huffs, bumping you with his elbow.
Your eyes drop to where his arm just touched, unsure whether it was too much or not enough.
"I'm surprised you're even asking," you steal a glance at the man as he now leads the way. He takes a quick few steps and turns to face you, walking backwards, making you slow down or else you'd collide with him.
"Well, you don't know my clearance level." Thomas laughs, pointing a finger at you, his brow raised cheekily. "Maybe I know everything about you already?"
Your shoes scrape against the concrete as you stop, suddenly feeling caught, caged. What if he does? It's his first ops and he's already paired with you for such a high stakes mission. For all you know, he might be third in chain of command right after Cecil and Donald.
"Do you?" Scared, and maybe vulnerable, you cross your arms, eyelids creasing, narrowing, bordering the line of sultry and dangerous. Showing him how his words truly make you feel is not the best idea right now, but the longer you're in this business, the harder it is to navigate the lies, hide the truth, entangled in layers of secrets that become heavier with every day you get to walk this Earth.
Thankfully, he gets the hint.
"Nah, I'm kidding." The blond man laughs, the sound guilty as he raises his hands apologetically. "I was just wondering if you'd slip."
The scent of his cologne lingers in your nose when you walk past him, your shoulders brushing.
"In your dreams."
After two drinks, the conversation flows easily. He's very chatty, telling you ridiculous stories of his past postings, his background, his education—assuming it's all true, as it may well not be the case. Which is good, because you can't reveal much about yourself anyway. You're a double agent even among the GDA employees.
For a first partner since you've been with the Agency, he's a really great match. At least spending the next few weeks—or even months—by his side won't be boring or annoying.
When it's time to split, he lingers by your door, and even though you shouldn't, you let him. Blackwood is calmly standing in the hall, not daring to enter your space without your clear invitation, the overhead lighting illuminating his blond locks into a halo. Your shoes are already kicked to the side, the soft carpet flooring soothing your tired feet.
"This was fun," Thomas tilts his head, large hands buried deep in his pockets. You hum, too tired to talk. And maybe a little scared that if you open your mouth you'll invite him in.
"We can carpool together, if you want." He adds after a pregnant pause, one that's definitely too loaded for two people who just met. "Unless you have your own car."
"Maybe you're more important than me then." You speak up, resting your head on the doorframe with a tired smirk. "They never assigned me a car."
Thomas doesn't fire back instantly, doesn't quip back some corny line, like you were expecting. Then, a quiet thought in the back of your mind reminds you he's not a guy to crack a joke and wink. Though you'd love nothing more than that right now.
For a few, long seconds, he's studying your face with a small but heartfelt smile, sitting so perfectly on the sharp lines of his features. But you find yourself missing another cocky grin usually devoid of any sincerity.
"9:30 AM in the lobby?" Blackwood breaks the heavy silence, his voice light and sure.
Looking back into his bright blue eyes, you realize that if you only let go you could sink in them, but there's still something—someone—holding you afloat. "I'll be there."
"Goodnight," Blackwood bows his head, adding your name quietly.
The drive to the Pentagon is thankfully a quick one, and thanks to traffic rush being over, you arrive with 10 minutes to spare. Just enough time to chat with Donald. He gives you his usual tight but genuine smile when he feels your hand on his shoulder.
"Is there a chance Rex's surgery won't be a success?" You wrap your arms around yourself, your voice dropping to a lower register.
"Very small." The man turns to face you, holding his clipboard tight to his chest. "Almost unlikely, to be honest."
Other agents walk past you, entering the conference room, and you're giving them polite nods and quick smiles that don't reach your eyes. Only when the coast is clear, you continue. "Good. I'd hate for him to go through all this and not be able to return to the team."
"He's in very good… hands. There's no need to worry."
You press your lips into a thin line, silence stretching between you as you glimpse down, examining the ridges and creases in the floor. "It's not his physical health I'm worried about," you say carefully, even quieter than before.
"We do have mental health professionals too." Donald replies almost instantly with the slightest smirk. Surprisingly, sarcasm suits him pretty well. You mirror his expression, tilting your head, your tone far from apologetic. "You know it's hard to see a shrink with our schedule."
"I'm aware," he sighs, his shoulders dropping an inch, "regardless, would do you wonders."
A humorous chuckle gets stuck in your throat as you pat him on the shoulder, his head shifting to look at the point of contact. "Maybe when I'm retired."
His always cold hand covers your palm for a brief moment, quickly moving it away when you flinch at the temperature difference. "I hope you get there."
"Yeah," you sigh, tired and far from hopeful, "me too."
The mission prep starts the same as usual. Going over routes, locations and aliases in details. It doesn't take you long to get back into the groove. After a couple of hours of debating and planning every feasible variable, you're in dire need of a break, away from the heavy folders and leather office chairs that only look comfortable.
"Buy you lunch?" Blackwood offers when everyone leaves the room, leaving only you two inside.
"Thanks," you smile apologetically, putting your notes in order in your binder, "but I've already made plans."
His eyes follow you as you walk towards the door, laced with a kind of longing and understanding you don't want to examine right now. "Busy girl."
On the way to the hospital wing floor, your elevator dings, stopping midway. None other than Cecil Stedman gets inside. The silence feels a little bit awkward at first, until he breaks it.
"I see you're warming up to your new partner," Cecil states flatly, gaze stuck on the elevator door.
"Since when do you care about relations between agents?" There's a bite to your tone, one you can't seem to shake off when it comes to the Director. He doesn't take the bait, only looks back at you over his shoulder, face even with the slightest smirk loosely sitting on his face.
"I hand picked him just for you." The signature sound of his sarcasm shines through the seemingly sweet words.
"Why?"
"Because I want you to succeed." The statement is loaded, even if he didn't mean it to be, his icy blue eyes staring right into your soul.
Is he suggesting you've fallen off? Is he so disappointed, he thinks you need a caretaker? Or is it just the fact he sees you as one of greatest assets, one he simply can't afford to lose? Another, less believable option pops up in your anxious mind: he wants you to believe in the work you do once more. If not for yourself, then for the sake of the planet.
You don't reply.
When the elevator slows down at the R&D floor, he holds the door before leaving and turns to you with a softer look, one you haven't seen on him in a long while—if ever. "Keep your head in the game, kid. Rex will wait."
That kind of candidness from the Director catches you off guard. So much in fact, you cannot stop yourself when you reply, voice small and scared, "And if he doesn't?"
Cecil closes his eyes slowly, letting out a heavy exhale through his nose. Then, he looks at you like only a parent would, passing down uncomfortable but important truth, "Then you're better off."
The elevator door closes behind him with a quiet rustle.
When you get to the hospital wing floor, you don't immediately get out. The door closes gently, with you still inside the lift. Not thinking much more about this, you press the button to the sterile wing. Cecil's right—Rex can wait. It's high time you visited Rae, too.
You're not going to look for nurses to suit you up in a hazmat, you don't have that much time left. Plus, putting it over a pantsuit would be an absolute nightmare. So you settle on the thick glass window wall. You glance around, making sure no one's around to eavesdrop. But just in case, you flick your wrist around, blocking the sound waves from escaping far. Now no one will hear you.
"Hi Rae, I know it's been a while." Her face is visibly less swollen now, healthy brush of colour on her cheeks. A bittersweet reminder of the time that passed since you last came here. "Sorry about that. Life's been… hectic, to say the least."
"Where do I even start?" You grin weakly, a quiet chuckle vibrating against your lips. "Rex is getting a new hand. The GDA somehow whipped up a flesh-looking prosthetic that would be directly connected with his nervous system and all the surrounding tissue."
Your gaze goes lower to her arms, at last free from casts, yet still bruised and worryingly thin.
"I wonder what else they are hiding from us. Maybe they can even make us live forever?" The words ring against the thick glass, cold and quiet like the hospital's corridors. "Serving the people until the Earth is burnt by the Sun." The heart monitor hums in the background, steady beep of her heartbeat a soothing rhythm. "I hope they don't have that ability, though. One lifetime of hero work is more than enough."
A shiver runs down your whole body, from the top of your head down to your toes squeezed into heels.
"Anyway," you say, voice higher, lopsided smirk on your face. "Cecil's sending me on an undercover ops. Promise you won't tell anyone?"
Rae lies, immobile, if not for the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her lips are sealed.
"There's this crime group in the south that is experimenting on refugees. Luring them in with promises of a legal employment in the States, then changing them into super-abled villains. Which, to be fair, sounds like something straight from a superhero comic book."
"Now to think about it," you fake ponder, her hearty laugh echoing around her skull, "I wouldn't mind getting a win like you see in these. I really don't want to die under an alias with a guy I barely know."
The fact you pledged yourself a year ago to do just that when joining the Guardians conveniently flies over your head.
"Oh, right. I was assigned a partner for the first time. His name is Thomas Blackwood. He's new to the GDA. Which shows—he still has that glimmer of optimism and naivety in his eyes." His chiselled, pale face comes to your mind, framed by soft, blond curls. "Very pretty eyes, might I add."
You clear your throat, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck, "Cecil said he had chosen him specifically for me. And I don't know what the fuck that means. The guy's insanely handsome, and funny, and just a great catch overall. Which I feel awful to even admit those things, because…" You pause, setting your eyes down to your shoes. It still surprises you how unavoidable of a topic the redhead can be. "Because Rex is still in my life." The words come soft, barely above a whisper.
"I know we're nothing more than friends now, and that it wouldn't ever go anywhere serious. I'm afraid it's impossible to build something lasting with him. And it's best I forget all about it. But I can't."
You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, fighting away the tears. It's the first time you said something remotely real about him out loud. It takes you a few breaths to collect yourself again.
"Maybe I'm not so different than Blackwood then," you admit with a weak smile, "I also still have that hope, despite all of the signs telling me otherwise."
God, if Rae could actually hear you right now… No, she wouldn't ridicule you. Yeah, you snickered like siblings, but she's always been so kind.
"But we can talk about it sooner than later. They're going to be waking you up in a couple of weeks from now. I missed your killer advice, sunshine. I desperately need it."
You glance at your watch.
Shit. You're already late.
The classes with the accent coach turn out to be harder than you anticipated. They run late, because you're a stubborn student, and you want to get it right as soon as possible. It's your speciality, you can't be flunking on this matter. Even, if the coach has no idea you can literally manipulate sound.
It's only when Blackwood knocks on the door you begrudgingly agree to finish for the day. Your teacher glances at him with a silent thank you in her eyes. Before leaving, you set the schedule for the rest of the prep time with her and then you're out, walking arm in arm with the GDA's newest addition. As you pass the absurdly long corridors, paperwork dropping to desks in offices along the way, you feel the staff staring, their mouths moving as they whisper to each other like some high school students watching the hot it-couple gracing them with their presence.
Little do they know, you could easily make out every single word they say. But you're too tired for that, and frankly—who the fuck cares?
"You didn't have to wait," is the first thing you say to him when you enter the car, fastening your seatbelt, trying to seem too busy to really look at him.
Blackwood snorts, shaking his head in disbelief as he leaves the GDA underground parking. "And what, let you walk alone to the apartment building?"
You gasp, mock offended and the urge to see the spark in his eyes wins. You lean forward with the car starting from the green light, so you can catch his smirk. "I can take care of myself."
Thomas doesn't peel his eyes off the road for even a second. Which makes you feel grateful, and disappointed at the same time. "I don't doubt it."
"I'm kicking your ass tomorrow," you challenge him, finger pointing at his face, your eyes squinted in mischief.
At last, Thomas turns his head, setting on you those oceans of eyes with so much depth it still surprises you. When he looks away, his voice comes low and amused, "Can't wait."
Now you have two reasons to be restless for the whole night.
maddie's scribbles: and to the people that voted for less, but longer chapters—i'm sorry. i'll try my best with future updates. but this one broke my brain a bit. and i just needed the feeling of accomplishment.
because the longer i wait, the less likely it is i'm going to pick it up again. and i do not want to abandon the story. (yes i'm on my period and i was being very emotional about the fic over the last few days like i am every month at this point of my cycle)
Track 30
⬅️ main masterlist
⬅️ Rex Splode masterlist
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summary: Mission prep goes entirely smooth. Too smooth.
rex splode x female reader
warnings and tags: MDNI, self-indulgent, canon divergence, kinda slow burn-ish in reverse?, love triangle, kinda in-between chapter, Cecil is not so bad but also kind of awful, Donald must be protected at all costs
word count: 4995
maddie's scribbles: i'm so sorry it took so long. i had an almost 9k words unfinished version of this chapter-track that would end up being like 12k when completed. which, for not a final chapter? is insane. even for me. but thanks to the wonderful help of @/queen-of-gotham and @/cheeyan i decided to split it into two. so next track is already almost fully written. also, happy (extremely) belated one year anniversary to the playlist fic!
Track 28
The playlist
"You're still here?"
Cecil states more than asks when you enter his office the next day, this time more cordially, knocking and waiting to be let in like the good agent that you are. The office hasn't changed much over the decade or so you've been with the GDA. It's neat and clean, but lacking warmth in the way the Director's icy blue eyes make everyone shiver. The space could belong to anyone, practically nothing revealing the true owner of the vast, ebony desk, if not for Donald's portrait photo set in the centrepiece of the floor to ceiling cabinet.
"About that—" you clear your throat, rubbing the back of your neck, "since I'm gonna have training onsite, I can't fly between Utah and D.C. every day."
The Director glances at you once from his tablet. It's a quick one, but you notice how his face muscles ease, thankful it's not one of your usual tantrums. "Done. Donald will give you the keys and the address."
His tone is final in the way that tells you it's time to leave, but you linger, still not done with your requests. Despite his offer, you start fidgeting with the skin around your nails before continuing, "I still need to get my stuff from the HQ."
Again, he takes one swift peek at you, then answers, sight glued to the tablet. "I can teleport you back and forth with a 30 minute window in between."
"That's not what I want," you take a step closer, trying to keep your tone measured and polite enough to not start another fight. Maybe it's your brand, what everyone expects of you, but you just don't have the energy for it anymore. And no, cuddling with Rex had absolutely nothing to do with that.
"I hate being teleported," you add a bit louder when the man doesn't reply. "Plus, it's more expensive than a jet ride."
Cecil sighs, but presses on his earpiece anyway, not gracing you with another glance and barks out orders to whoever is on the line. Possibly poor Donald. "In exactly 45 minutes you have to be on the roof."
"Thank you, Cecil." You give the Director a small smile, even though he's not even looking at you.
"Hey, kid?" His voice comes from behind your back when your hand is already on the cold, smooth door handle.
"Yeah?" You look at him over your shoulder. The tablet is now on the desk, his fingers intertwined below his chin resting on them, his icy blue eyes measured, scanning your face intently. It's usually followed by something you don't want to, but have to hear.
"This is your chance to prove yourself again."
There it is.
Your gaze drops to the carpet, then back up to Cecil, your eyes focused and steady.
"I know."
"Hey, Rex." The mattress dips under your weight, your hand finding his warm shoulder, shaking it gently, still feeling like he's a porcelain doll that will break if you even look at it wrong. "Wake up."
"Huh?" The redhead grumbles, soft hum of the heart monitor accompanying him, peering at you with a sleep heavy gaze. Red locks now reach his eyebrows when swept forward from tossing around the hospital bed. The speed with which it grows back doesn't cease to amaze you. Perks of being an artificially enhanced super human.
"I'm leaving soon—no, wait." Warmth of his soft lips and hot breath tickles your palm, as you raise your hand to cover his mouth, his brows already furrowed with worry and sadness that sits heavy between your ribs. "Let me finish. I'll be back in a few hours. D.C. is going to be my home for the next month or so, and then I'll be able to see you almost every day."
That seems to shake whatever sleepiness was still holding onto him. The bed sheets fall off his thighs when he abruptly sits up. His dark, green eyes glimmering with joy, grin so wide you forget for a few moments about everything that has weighed down on you for the last couple months. "For real?"
"Yeah," you smile, smoothing your hand down his arm. "I'm attending prep for my operation, along with my new partner."
From the hallway, quiet conversation of the nurses taking their break by the whirring coffee machine can be heard, filling the wordless space between you until he interrogates, "Partner?" Rex stiffens under your palm. "A man or a woman?"
Instead of answering openly, you tilt your head to the side, your gaze flickering over his face as you try to make out what's bubbling underneath. "What difference does it make?"
"So it's a guy," the redhead huffs, turning his head away from you. Doing your best to remain neutral, you bite down on your lips. It would be a lie to say you didn't miss that part of him.
"Rex, it's strictly professional," a chuckle almost gets out, but you manage to swallow it down. "Plus, I've only met him yesterday."
"Is he handsome?" Rex glances at you before fixing his gaze back on the wall.
"Angelic," you let out and exaggerated sigh, resting the back of your palm on your forehead.
"Oh, come on," he whines, dropping his arms, defeated, "he can't be hotter than me."
A wide, cocky grin stretches from cheek to cheek on your face when you tout, "Debatable."
Rex gasps, mock-offended, but doesn't say anything. Only looks at you, his emerald eyes holding answers to questions you're not ready to ask just yet. Nor are you certain you'll ever find the courage to ask them.
"Can you remind me when's the surgery?" After a few beats pass, you inquire, now in a softer, more genuine tone. Back and forth with him feels like a lungful of air, but even too much oxygen can be dangerous.
"In two days," he grumbles, visibly fighting a smile, crossing his arms over his chest theatrically. The corner of your lips lift up; he's so insanely adorable like that. Jealous, boyish, worried. You squeeze his toned, warm arm, reassuring smile growing on your face. "I'll be there then."
Rex puts his only palm on yours, the skin much softer than you remember, the callouses and roughness gone with the time he's spent in the hospital. The sudden affection makes a breath catch in your throat when he replies, for once with a sincere upturn of his lips, "You better."
The GDA apartments are always decorated the same way—minimalist, industrial, bare. Rex would hate it here, whining the place has no soul and character.
Which is exactly the way it was intended to be. You're not supposed to feel like at home here. It's not a place to settle down and start living a mundane, ordinary life. It's just a government granted hotel, a place to keep some form of separation between work and private life. Despite that, you can't even bring anyone here, not unless they are an agent themselves.
Music from your recent playlist fills the space as you unpack unhurriedly. You still have this day for yourself before you have to start the intense trainings. Even though you shouldn't, you imagine yourself living here full time. Everything is placed and displayed as if it was truly your place. Some sense of normalcy is needed in this crazy, superhero slash GDA agent life.
When you get out of the shower, you turn off the music and turn the TV on, curious to see what's the state of legacy media nowadays. As expected, it disappoints you—headlines trying to catch your attention and make you angry, grouping people into 'for' and 'against' with zero space for nuance. The TV screen shuts off with a quiet hum as it goes pitch black, and you're glad that you don't have television in the Guardian's HQ.
It's high time you throw on your comfiest pyjamas and settle in bed with a good book or a comfort movie. The last time you watched anything was Twilight with Rex. It's tempting, but seeing it again in such a short amount of time would ruin the charm. So you settle on the next best thing, and put on Mean Girls.
Halfway through the film, there's a knock on the apartment door. You pause it with a quiet curse under your nose, it's the best damn part and someone just ruined it. Besides, no one knows you're here, and you sure as hell didn't order anything.
As you pad toward the entrance, you hesitate, but in the end take out the Glock Donald provided you with, and check the clip. It's full.
It's been ages since you handled a gun, but you know you can't risk revealing your identity by using your powers. Being a public person now has its limitations, and you're not sure Cecil has actually thought it through planting you on the team. The footsteps you take towards the entrance are silent, thanks to the combination of your socks and soft carpet.
"Who's there?" You ask, voice firm and loud.
"It's Blackwood."
You pass a surprised exhale through your nose. It sure as hell does sound like him, that southern accent is unmistakable. Still, to be entirely sure, you glance through the visor. It really is him.
When you open the door, he takes half a step forward, but backs out when he sees you're already in your sleeping attire. He also looks much more casual now. Gone is the sharp, smart suit he was wearing yesterday. Today it's just loose fitting jeans and a shirt with rolled up sleeves thrown over a band tee, and a faint, lingering smell of his cologne. The scent is fresh and sharp, politely but firmly saying 'I know what I'm doing'.
"What are you doing here?" There's genuine surprise in your voice. He's absolutely the last person you were expecting to see tonight. He shifts his stance, realizing he didn't prep for this question. Rookie mistake. "Heard they moved you here."
"They did." The doorframe feels cool to the touch when you rest your shoulder against it, crossing your arms over your chest. "It doesn't answer my question though."
There's a heavy silence after that, if not for the rattle of the AC in your bedroom. Thomas is avoiding your line of sight as you stare right at him, simply standing there in front of you.
"I live in this building," Blackwood breaks the silence first, half-apologetic smile on his face.
"And so do many other agents," you notice, tone sharper than you intended.
His shoulder slump an inch as a faint blush creeps up his neck towards his ears. "Well, I just wanted to say hi."
The contrast between the dull, lifeless hallway of the GDA apartment building and his casual attire, along with the surprise show-up at your door forces you to reevaluate yours and his intentions. Maybe the walls you've been carrying around yourself have no purpose here.
"Hi," you smile and his cheeks turn an even darker shade of red. It's kinda adorable, and you feel satisfaction with the way he reacts towards you. Just like someone else you know.
"And I also thought—"
"There it is," you quietly cut in, mumbling the words under your nose, smirk sharpening.
"—it's a Friday night. Our prep tomorrow doesn't start until 10 AM. Which, for the GDA standards, is like late afternoon."
That earns him a chuckle, a genuine one, not the polite bullshit people do.
"But I guess you've already called it a night," he points with his chin at your attire.
You glance to the floor, wiggling your toes in your fuzzy, hot pink socks. "I'm watching Mean Girls in bed."
"Great film," Blackwood perks up, his posture loosening up, confidence laced in his voice. "Iconic, even."
Both of your brows raise up to your hairline, genuinely and positively surprised. At last, someone who knows the classics. "So you have good taste in cinema."
"Oh, I think I have great taste in a lot of things." The blond man smirks, leaning with his hand on the wall, his body moving closer to yours. Only when he finishes talking you realize you've caught the bait. Might as well go with it. A little friendly flirting has never hurt nobody.
"Oh yeah? Like what?" you lift a brow, your lip corners curling up.
"You can learn about it more if you let me take you out for drinks tonight."
"Listen, I—"
"Wait, before you say no." The man lifts his hands, open palms up. "I'm still new to the GDA and I haven't really met anyone. You're my first ops partner and… I just would like to get to know you. So we can work better together, as a team."
You would never expect such a charismatic, handsome man to drop down to pitiful begging. But it works. There's no way you can say no to that gorgeous face.
"Alright," you agree after only a few moments of pondering. "Give me twenty minutes."
"I'll wait down in the lobby."
The moment Blackwood sees you out the elevator, his brows shoot up, eyes dragging slowly from your toes to the tip of your head.
"Wow, you look… different."
"Did you think I'd go out in my pyjamas?" A laugh gets past you, stopping at a safe, wider distance from him. Instead of coming closer to you, he remains in his spot, only shifting his weight, keeping a respectful, safe space between you.
"It's just that so far I have only seen you in fluffy slippers and fuzzy socks."
"Ah, yeah." A breathy chuckle comes, as you tuck some of your hair behind your ear. "Well, Cecil dragged me to the Pentagon with only a fifteen minute heads up. And I didn't know I'd be meeting new agents. Otherwise—"
"You'd have worn something like this?" He cuts in, his gaze stopping for a second too long at your bare legs. The outfit is a little bit too revealing for government standards. But great for a casual night out. It's been ages since you've had an opportunity to dress up. The last time was… No, you don't want to think about that night right now.
"Rather a button-up and slacks."
"You must be pretty important to be able to casually walk around the GDA in a zip-up," he notes, holding the building door open for you.
"Let's just say…" you pause, breathy, looking at the man over your shoulder with an unnecessary weight, "I have a special working relationship with Cecil."
"I assume you can't talk about this?" Blackwood huffs, bumping you with his elbow.
Your eyes drop to where his arm just touched, unsure whether it was too much or not enough.
"I'm surprised you're even asking," you steal a glance at the man as he now leads the way. He takes a quick few steps and turns to face you, walking backwards, making you slow down or else you'd collide with him.
"Well, you don't know my clearance level." Thomas laughs, pointing a finger at you, his brow raised cheekily. "Maybe I know everything about you already?"
Your shoes scrape against the concrete as you stop, suddenly feeling caught, caged. What if he does? It's his first ops and he's already paired with you for such a high stakes mission. For all you know, he might be third in chain of command right after Cecil and Donald.
"Do you?" Scared, and maybe vulnerable, you cross your arms, eyelids creasing, narrowing, bordering the line of sultry and dangerous. Showing him how his words truly make you feel is not the best idea right now, but the longer you're in this business, the harder it is to navigate the lies, hide the truth, entangled in layers of secrets that become heavier with every day you get to walk this Earth.
Thankfully, he gets the hint.
"Nah, I'm kidding." The blond man laughs, the sound guilty as he raises his hands apologetically. "I was just wondering if you'd slip."
The scent of his cologne lingers in your nose when you walk past him, your shoulders brushing.
"In your dreams."
After two drinks, the conversation flows easily. He's very chatty, telling you ridiculous stories of his past postings, his background, his education—assuming it's all true, as it may well not be the case. Which is good, because you can't reveal much about yourself anyway. You're a double agent even among the GDA employees.
For a first partner since you've been with the Agency, he's a really great match. At least spending the next few weeks—or even months—by his side won't be boring or annoying.
When it's time to split, he lingers by your door, and even though you shouldn't, you let him. Blackwood is calmly standing in the hall, not daring to enter your space without your clear invitation, the overhead lighting illuminating his blond locks into a halo. Your shoes are already kicked to the side, the soft carpet flooring soothing your tired feet.
"This was fun," Thomas tilts his head, large hands buried deep in his pockets. You hum, too tired to talk. And maybe a little scared that if you open your mouth you'll invite him in.
"We can carpool together, if you want." He adds after a pregnant pause, one that's definitely too loaded for two people who just met. "Unless you have your own car."
"Maybe you're more important than me then." You speak up, resting your head on the doorframe with a tired smirk. "They never assigned me a car."
Thomas doesn't fire back instantly, doesn't quip back some corny line, like you were expecting. Then, a quiet thought in the back of your mind reminds you he's not a guy to crack a joke and wink. Though you'd love nothing more than that right now.
For a few, long seconds, he's studying your face with a small but heartfelt smile, sitting so perfectly on the sharp lines of his features. But you find yourself missing another cocky grin usually devoid of any sincerity.
"9:30 AM in the lobby?" Blackwood breaks the heavy silence, his voice light and sure.
Looking back into his bright blue eyes, you realize that if you only let go you could sink in them, but there's still something—someone—holding you afloat. "I'll be there."
"Goodnight," Blackwood bows his head, adding your name quietly.
The drive to the Pentagon is thankfully a quick one, and thanks to traffic rush being over, you arrive with 10 minutes to spare. Just enough time to chat with Donald. He gives you his usual tight but genuine smile when he feels your hand on his shoulder.
"Is there a chance Rex's surgery won't be a success?" You wrap your arms around yourself, your voice dropping to a lower register.
"Very small." The man turns to face you, holding his clipboard tight to his chest. "Almost unlikely, to be honest."
Other agents walk past you, entering the conference room, and you're giving them polite nods and quick smiles that don't reach your eyes. Only when the coast is clear, you continue. "Good. I'd hate for him to go through all this and not be able to return to the team."
"He's in very good… hands. There's no need to worry."
You press your lips into a thin line, silence stretching between you as you glimpse down, examining the ridges and creases in the floor. "It's not his physical health I'm worried about," you say carefully, even quieter than before.
"We do have mental health professionals too." Donald replies almost instantly with the slightest smirk. Surprisingly, sarcasm suits him pretty well. You mirror his expression, tilting your head, your tone far from apologetic. "You know it's hard to see a shrink with our schedule."
"I'm aware," he sighs, his shoulders dropping an inch, "regardless, would do you wonders."
A humorous chuckle gets stuck in your throat as you pat him on the shoulder, his head shifting to look at the point of contact. "Maybe when I'm retired."
His always cold hand covers your palm for a brief moment, quickly moving it away when you flinch at the temperature difference. "I hope you get there."
"Yeah," you sigh, tired and far from hopeful, "me too."
The mission prep starts the same as usual. Going over routes, locations and aliases in details. It doesn't take you long to get back into the groove. After a couple of hours of debating and planning every feasible variable, you're in dire need of a break, away from the heavy folders and leather office chairs that only look comfortable.
"Buy you lunch?" Blackwood offers when everyone leaves the room, leaving only you two inside.
"Thanks," you smile apologetically, putting your notes in order in your binder, "but I've already made plans."
His eyes follow you as you walk towards the door, laced with a kind of longing and understanding you don't want to examine right now. "Busy girl."
On the way to the hospital wing floor, your elevator dings, stopping midway. None other than Cecil Stedman gets inside. The silence feels a little bit awkward at first, until he breaks it.
"I see you're warming up to your new partner," Cecil states flatly, gaze stuck on the elevator door.
"Since when do you care about relations between agents?" There's a bite to your tone, one you can't seem to shake off when it comes to the Director. He doesn't take the bait, only looks back at you over his shoulder, face even with the slightest smirk loosely sitting on his face.
"I hand picked him just for you." The signature sound of his sarcasm shines through the seemingly sweet words.
"Why?"
"Because I want you to succeed." The statement is loaded, even if he didn't mean it to be, his icy blue eyes staring right into your soul.
Is he suggesting you've fallen off? Is he so disappointed, he thinks you need a caretaker? Or is it just the fact he sees you as one of greatest assets, one he simply can't afford to lose? Another, less believable option pops up in your anxious mind: he wants you to believe in the work you do once more. If not for yourself, then for the sake of the planet.
You don't reply.
When the elevator slows down at the R&D floor, he holds the door before leaving and turns to you with a softer look, one you haven't seen on him in a long while—if ever. "Keep your head in the game, kid. Rex will wait."
That kind of candidness from the Director catches you off guard. So much in fact, you cannot stop yourself when you reply, voice small and scared, "And if he doesn't?"
Cecil closes his eyes slowly, letting out a heavy exhale through his nose. Then, he looks at you like only a parent would, passing down uncomfortable but important truth, "Then you're better off."
The elevator door closes behind him with a quiet rustle.
When you get to the hospital wing floor, you don't immediately get out. The door closes gently, with you still inside the lift. Not thinking much more about this, you press the button to the sterile wing. Cecil's right—Rex can wait. It's high time you visited Rae, too.
You're not going to look for nurses to suit you up in a hazmat, you don't have that much time left. Plus, putting it over a pantsuit would be an absolute nightmare. So you settle on the thick glass window wall. You glance around, making sure no one's around to eavesdrop. But just in case, you flick your wrist around, blocking the sound waves from escaping far. Now no one will hear you.
"Hi Rae, I know it's been a while." Her face is visibly less swollen now, healthy brush of colour on her cheeks. A bittersweet reminder of the time that passed since you last came here. "Sorry about that. Life's been… hectic, to say the least."
"Where do I even start?" You grin weakly, a quiet chuckle vibrating against your lips. "Rex is getting a new hand. The GDA somehow whipped up a flesh-looking prosthetic that would be directly connected with his nervous system and all the surrounding tissue."
Your gaze goes lower to her arms, at last free from casts, yet still bruised and worryingly thin.
"I wonder what else they are hiding from us. Maybe they can even make us live forever?" The words ring against the thick glass, cold and quiet like the hospital's corridors. "Serving the people until the Earth is burnt by the Sun." The heart monitor hums in the background, steady beep of her heartbeat a soothing rhythm. "I hope they don't have that ability, though. One lifetime of hero work is more than enough."
A shiver runs down your whole body, from the top of your head down to your toes squeezed into heels.
"Anyway," you say, voice higher, lopsided smirk on your face. "Cecil's sending me on an undercover ops. Promise you won't tell anyone?"
Rae lies, immobile, if not for the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her lips are sealed.
"There's this crime group in the south that is experimenting on refugees. Luring them in with promises of a legal employment in the States, then changing them into super-abled villains. Which, to be fair, sounds like something straight from a superhero comic book."
"Now to think about it," you fake ponder, her hearty laugh echoing around her skull, "I wouldn't mind getting a win like you see in these. I really don't want to die under an alias with a guy I barely know."
The fact you pledged yourself a year ago to do just that when joining the Guardians conveniently flies over your head.
"Oh, right. I was assigned a partner for the first time. His name is Thomas Blackwood. He's new to the GDA. Which shows—he still has that glimmer of optimism and naivety in his eyes." His chiselled, pale face comes to your mind, framed by soft, blond curls. "Very pretty eyes, might I add."
You clear your throat, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck, "Cecil said he had chosen him specifically for me. And I don't know what the fuck that means. The guy's insanely handsome, and funny, and just a great catch overall. Which I feel awful to even admit those things, because…" You pause, setting your eyes down to your shoes. It still surprises you how unavoidable of a topic the redhead can be. "Because Rex is still in my life." The words come soft, barely above a whisper.
"I know we're nothing more than friends now, and that it wouldn't ever go anywhere serious. I'm afraid it's impossible to build something lasting with him. And it's best I forget all about it. But I can't."
You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, fighting away the tears. It's the first time you said something remotely real about him out loud. It takes you a few breaths to collect yourself again.
"Maybe I'm not so different than Blackwood then," you admit with a weak smile, "I also still have that hope, despite all of the signs telling me otherwise."
God, if Rae could actually hear you right now… No, she wouldn't ridicule you. Yeah, you snickered like siblings, but she's always been so kind.
"But we can talk about it sooner than later. They're going to be waking you up in a couple of weeks from now. I missed your killer advice, sunshine. I desperately need it."
You glance at your watch.
Shit. You're already late.
The classes with the accent coach turn out to be harder than you anticipated. They run late, because you're a stubborn student, and you want to get it right as soon as possible. It's your speciality, you can't be flunking on this matter. Even, if the coach has no idea you can literally manipulate sound.
It's only when Blackwood knocks on the door you begrudgingly agree to finish for the day. Your teacher glances at him with a silent thank you in her eyes. Before leaving, you set the schedule for the rest of the prep time with her and then you're out, walking arm in arm with the GDA's newest addition. As you pass the absurdly long corridors, paperwork dropping to desks in offices along the way, you feel the staff staring, their mouths moving as they whisper to each other like some high school students watching the hot it-couple gracing them with their presence.
Little do they know, you could easily make out every single word they say. But you're too tired for that, and frankly—who the fuck cares?
"You didn't have to wait," is the first thing you say to him when you enter the car, fastening your seatbelt, trying to seem too busy to really look at him.
Blackwood snorts, shaking his head in disbelief as he leaves the GDA underground parking. "And what, let you walk alone to the apartment building?"
You gasp, mock offended and the urge to see the spark in his eyes wins. You lean forward with the car starting from the green light, so you can catch his smirk. "I can take care of myself."
Thomas doesn't peel his eyes off the road for even a second. Which makes you feel grateful, and disappointed at the same time. "I don't doubt it."
"I'm kicking your ass tomorrow," you challenge him, finger pointing at his face, your eyes squinted in mischief.
At last, Thomas turns his head, setting on you those oceans of eyes with so much depth it still surprises you. When he looks away, his voice comes low and amused, "Can't wait."
Now you have two reasons to be restless for the whole night.
maddie's scribbles: and to the people that voted for less, but longer chapters—i'm sorry. i'll try my best with future updates. but this one broke my brain a bit. and i just needed the feeling of accomplishment.
because the longer i wait, the less likely it is i'm going to pick it up again. and i do not want to abandon the story. (yes i'm on my period and i was being very emotional about the fic over the last few days like i am every month at this point of my cycle)
Track 30
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(writes something) god this sucks so bad. this is awful. i'm the worst writer ever. this is nothing. (rereads it a while after writing it) oh dude this is fire. i'm the god of writing. (writes something again) god this sucks so bad. th
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