Slow, sultry beats coming from the speakers fill the room quietly, accompanying the laziness of a Saturday afternoon. Rex is lying in bed, dozing off, fighting to keep his eyes open. The late, low set sunrays light up his tan body like a painting; he’s wearing only his shorts. Anyone with a sound mind would be focusing on the way his toned chest moves up and down steadily with each breath he takes, but you?
Your eyes are set on his single best feature—his nose.
You’re leaning on the doorframe in a tanktop and shorts, your robe falling off one of your shoulders, admiring the shape of the bridge of his nose, how it slopes up at the height of his eyes. How the hunch casts a shadow on his face whenever he’s lit up from the side.
After a while of you just standing there, appreciating the beauty of your friend, Rex turns his head toward you, his eyelids heavily drooping down.
“You’re staring,” Rex mutters, voice thick with sleep. “Again.”
“As if you don’t like it,” you retort, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.
“I do,” he opens his green eyes, darting them along the shape of your bare legs, “but you’re giving me ideas.”
“Oh yeah?” You push yourself away from the doorframe, walking slowly in his direction, your steps measured, quiet. “Care to share?”
“You know exactly what kind,” he reaches his hand out to pet your thigh up and down, slyly avoiding the aching spot between your legs.
“I also have some ideas,” you confess, straddling him, your knees on both sides of his waist.
Rex sucks in air sharply, grazing his calloused hands up your legs to your waist, the bulge in his pants growing quickly under your weight.
“Mind telling me?” he hums, his thumbs drawing circles on your bare skin peeking from under your tanktop.
“I do, actually,” you purr, swaying your hips once, the friction of his hard cock on your swollen clit almost making you gasp. “But I can show you. That ok with you?”
“Fuck—” he groans, fighting the urge to buck up,”—more than okay, mama.”
You let out a short, sweet chuckle and get up to quickly free yourself from your shorts, showing him you had nothing else underneath.
“God, you’re—you’re going to kill me.” His hand is instantly on his length, bravely not moving yet, only holding himself through his shorts.
“I hope not,” you murmur, positioning yourself over his head, your throbbing cunt directly above his nose.
“C’mere,” he says, grabbing both of your ass cheeks in his strong hands, kneading the soft flesh between his practiced fingers.
You reach forward, supporting yourself on the headboard, and start to move, rubbing your clit on his perfect, aquiline nose. Your head falls down, your mouth open wide with soft gasps getting out, and you catch the glimpse of surprise in his leafy green eyes. Blood rushes to your face, and you slow down, suddenly shy.
“I’m sorry,” you stutter, clumsily getting up. But Rex keeps you where he wants you, with his face buried between your legs.
“No. Fuck, no.” His voice comes muffled from underneath you. “Don’t stop—use me however you want, doll.”
“Alright,” you sigh, lowering yourself once again on his nose. Rex only grunts, drunk on the smell and taste of you smeared on his face.
“I’ve wanted to do it for a very long time,” you admit between whimpers, rolling your hips in the rhythm of your heartbeat, his hands helping you up.
“I wish you’ve done it sooner,” he laughs, the sound rumbling low in his chest and vibrating against your folds.
The rest of afternoon is spent in his bed, with the doors left ajar, the whole base hearing your pleading sobs. Your legs may be sore for the next few days after, but it’s definitely worth making your dream come true—riding Rex’s nose like your life depends on it.
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series summary: You join the Guardians of the Globe along with Immortal and Bulletproof. The introduction of the two muscle men doesn't go so well for Rex. You grab his attention though, from the very first second he lays his eyes on you.
But you? You would never care for such a self-absorbed, stupid asshole. Even though he is undeniably very good-looking.
rex splode x female reader
warnings and tags: +18, nsfw, mdni, self-indulgent, enemies to lovers, angst, slow burn (kinda), eventual smut, toxic behaviour, anger issues, mild sexual content, explicit language
word count: 1975
a/n: this is my first fic ever (!); the idea of a playlist fic came up to me on a walk. i was listening to music and suddenly it clicked. please forgive any weird phrases or mistakes, English is not my first language. hopefully i can pull it off, i also cross-post on ao3 under the same username.
The playlist
“And last but not least, meet Banter" Cecil points his hand towards you “She may not be what you’d call a muscle, but definitely can incapacitate just anyone. Don’t piss her off if you want to keep your hearing. Or your head."
“Oh damn, Cecil! You have outdone yourself with her. I forgive you the other two." Rex sends you a suggestive look while wiggling his brows. You can hear everyone else groan quietly.
“So that’s the explosive you told me to watch out for," you smile at Cecil and walk towards the redhead. You extend your hand to him. He grabs it and tries to pull you closer, but you beat him to it. He is amused by your confidence, but his grin doesn’t falter.
“Oh yeah, that’s me." He leans in closer to your face and squeezes your hand, hard. It sends a tingling sensation throughout your body. You keep your cool, but the reaction is not lost on him.
“Heard so much shit about you," you sneer, tilting your head. Your eyes are locked on his, waiting for his reaction. And he doesn't disappoint when you see a hopeful glimmer in them.
“And?" Rex takes his time to response, eyes flicking along your face, still holding your hand in his.
"They didn’t do you justice," you smirk and move away, as you can feel this conversation is taking longer than you wanted, leaving Rex behind. He leans on the wall, arms crossed on his chest, following you with his eyes.
"Thanks, hotshot," he says under his breath as you walk past him to meet the rest of the team.
The rest of the greetings go as you expected—Rae compliments your costume, Kate sends you a cold look, and Rudy starts asking you a lot of questions.
"Could you elaborate on your abilities? I’m interested in understanding the new team dynamics better." His green eyes are piercing you. Why is he a kid?
"Of course." You knew this was coming. Still, you sigh, and square your shoulders, taking a confident stance, hoping you'd be able to satisfy his curiosity. "As you already know, my abilities revolve around sound. I can control sound waves, which means I can use them as a fighting force, letting me stay back in the battlefield."
"Would you be able to fight hidden, away from the enemy then?"
"Correct," you nod and continue, "I’m also able to manipulate the volume of the surroundings. There’s also something that I like to call spells, which is when I speak in a rapid, unintelligible way. This can disrupt anyone’s brain waves, leaving my opponent very confused or even short-circuited." You smile politely, trying not to stare too much.
He looks weirdly familiar.
“I see. And which of the two costs you more energy?"
“It’s not so energy draining, but I need to focus much more when trying to control sound waves. If I have to hold it for long, and additionally do something else, it can be tiring. Great tool for spying though." You wink at him deliberately, at which Rudy blushes but goes on with his interrogation.
“What about the possible loss of hearing that Cecil mentioned?"
“Oh, that?" You waive a hand, trying to seem casual. "Well, I try to use it sparingly. I call it echo pulse. I use my voice to create a forceful sound wave which is tuned to neural frequencies and could end in permanent hearing loss or even get someone killed."
You can feel others staring at you. from confusion, or fear—or even both. But it's nothing that hasn't happened before. You turn slightly and look towards the rest of the team, hurrying to explain so they can actually understand. If you're to work with these people, they better have a good grasp of your powers.
“In simpler terms, I can fry people’s brains. With sound. But I’d have to be royally pissed to do that. Hopefully I won’t have to use it much—it’s difficult to control and could affect bystanders."
Rudy blinks at you as he is creating a mental list of your abilities, nodding, filing his thoughts away.
“Thank you. That’s enough for now. If you don’t mind, I’d like to meet with you in the following days to discuss it in more detail." You nod politely, but dread the future conversation. You haven’t felt like a study object since you were a kid.
You didn’t realize that you have lowered yourself to be on the same eye-level as Rudy. When you stand up, somewhat embarrassed, you catch Rex looking at you. Or rather, staring.
Then something clicks in your head.
“Are you two," you point at Rudy and at the explosions guy “like, related? Brothers, perhaps?"
“We’re identical twins, actually. He’s just underdeveloped," Rex sends a murderous gaze towards Rudy. You knit your brows together, unamused, but also intrigued.
“Just kidding! This motherfucker here stole my DNA without my permission to fu—"
“Rex, please." Rudy holds his hands out to quiet the guy, who's already next to you, fuming like. furnace. "Forgive me for interrupting, but we went over this already. I apologized and you said you wouldn’t hold it against me."
“That’s enough you two," Cecil steps between them, but he looks at Rex specifically. “Deal with it in private, there’s no need for a show."
“All of you, you can split now. Take some time for yourself while you can." And with that, Cecil's gone, leaving a buzzing, blue ripple in the air where he just stood.
Rudy takes a step in front of the group holding his hand behind his back.
“Uhm, before everyone goes…" he says quietly, his face reddening. “Could we… could we take a group photo?"
The first few weeks go by quickly. You become very friendly with Rae, try to talk to Kate as little as possible and debate for hours with Rudy on a variety of moral issues. You were uncertain of him at first, especially with the whole stealing-someone’s-DNA ordeal, but he grew on you, eventually.
As to Rex, well. Rex flirts with you non stop, or rather, he’s trying to. He showers you with dumb pick-up lines and cheap compliments. You usually shrug him off and tell him to shove it, though deep down you find it endearing that he hasn’t given up yet. But it doesn’t matter, as he is an asshole moron. Very attractive, good-looking moron.
One Monday morning you eat breakfast on your own, some well deserved peace and quiet. Someone walks into the kitchen and you roll your eyes. You don’t need to turn back to see who it is. You can recognize the steps by the sound.
“Hey beautiful, guess what?" Rex stands over you with a piece of paper grinning like an idiot he is.
“Someone offered you a free lobotomy so you’d shut the fuck up?" You don’t look up, answering with your mouth half-full.
“Even better." He slams the training schedule for the week next to your bowl, making it jump and spill some milk. "We have our first training together tonight."
“Then I will need a lobotomy." You groan, grabbing your breakfast and place it in the sink. Without giving him another glance, you leave. Rex stays in the kitchen, scrunching his nose.
“What the fuck is a lobotony?" He mutters, scratching his head.
When the time comes, you put on your suit and head towards the training arena. Rex is already there, along with Black Samson.
“Today we will do half and half training. First 30 minutes as usual, and the next half an hour, an honest fight. Pure muscle, no powers or explosives. Any questions?"
“No sir. Let’s start this already," you say impatiently as you take your position.
“Why do you hate me so much, Banter?" Rex asks, standing across from you, frowning his face in a childish manner.
“You wouldn't get it." you scoff.
He smirks and gets into position as well.
“What if I want to?"
“Ok, ready, set… go!" Black Samson shouts and you move first.
You’re definitely gonna win against Rex, are we kidding? Over the past few weeks, you've learned his fighting style and tactics. And the rest of the team, too, of course.
Somehow, you didn’t win. Maybe he hasn’t enough brain activity for your powers to work on him. Still, you’re a sore loser. Immediately after the fight you head to the showers. You scream and slam your fists on the wall while cold water washes over you. How could you lose against this moron?
After washing your shame away, you get to your new room. It's okay—you’ve had better, but the size is good and the bed is comfortable, which right now is the most important thing. The only real downside is that your only neighbor is Rex.
You flop onto your bed, muscles already sore after the training. You barely put your cover on and you’re asleep almost instantaneously.
Stirring in your bed, you hear three swift knocks, followed by another one after a few seconds. The doorknob turns and your door opens just a crack. You see a familiar man walk into your room, quickly closing it behind him with a gentle click. He is at your bedside in three quick steps and climbs onto you, your body between his legs.
The man starts kissing you, lowering his body so your chests are flush. His calloused hands roam your body through your nightgown, making you quiver. You give the caresses back, scratching him all over his back, getting you a groan from him.
You get on your elbows and touch his chest, pushing it away a little, slowing him down.
“I want to sit on you" you say breathlessly. He hums in approval and gets up, holding your waist and helping you onto him. Now with him between your thighs, you wrap your arms and legs around him. You start kissing him again, harder this time.
The only times he breaks away from you is to give sweet praises, mouthing at your jaw. You feel fireworks going off in your belly, as his right hand travels all over your chest under your nightgown. His other hand is on your cheek, holding you firmly so you can take his kisses, which are getting deeper and hungrier. You notice his fingers touching your left side are delicate, a stark contrast to the grip he has on your jaw.
His fingers trail to your breast, cupping it gently. His hand is very warm, which makes the touch this more soothing. He starts massaging it, kneading it between his deft fingers. You start roaming your hands up and down his torso, finding a lot of scars on his skin. When you scratch, his cock twitches impatiently under your thigh.
You finally break the kiss to get some air in your lungs, using all your muscle strength to do so, as he has you in a steel grip. You are covered in sweat and still not fully awake, feeling lightheaded and almost dizzy.
“I want you inside me," you whisper and he chuckles, but it's not cruel, rather warm and approving.
You open your eyes. The face of the man is still out of focus, barely lit by the moon creeping through your window. You look into his green eyes, and—
“Rex?!"
You wake up with a loud gasp, drenched in sweat, bolting upright to sit on your bed. That did not just happen.
You trail your trembling hand down between your legs, only to find yourself extremely wet. You look down in disbelief—it's a god damn flood. There’s a wet stain on your sheets, a living proof of your fantasy. You often talk in your sleep, so you hope that no one heard anything.
That he didn’t hear anything.
Track 2
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summary: Rex lets go of any boundaries holding him back.
rex splode x female reader
warnings and tags: mdni, 18+, self-indulgent, canon divergence, kinda slow burn-ish in reverse?, angst, violence, threats, hurt/no comfort, Rex's POV
word count: 3084
Track 19
The playlist
“Hey, asshole!”
By some miracle, the creep knows it’s him being called out, and so he turns. He does so slowly, shoulders up to his ears, even with a little shake to his skinny body. Rex is at his side in a few quick paces, curling his fingers in the creep’s drenched polyester shirt.
“What did you do to her?!” The redhead screams, way too loud even for the club’s noises.
“Nothing, man—she must’ve drunk too much—”
“Don’t you fucking lie to me, you piece of shit! You slipped something into her drink!”
“Well, you shouldn’t have left her all alone, I saw her doing multiple shots, one by one—”
“LIAR!” Rex bitchslaps the man, and his head turns so violently to the side, it’s a miracle it doesn’t fall off. “You’re coming with me, you fucking creep.”
“And you’re what, police?”
Rex chuckles, but the sound’s dark and thick like tar.
“Nah, man. Far worse. But you are gonna rot in prison and regret ever coming to this shithole.”
“I don’t think so,” the guy spits in his face and shoves Rex away. He flees the second he’s free from Rex’s hold, but not for long.
Rex catches the asshole by his hair and brings him down to the floor with a blunt thud.
The woman that was talking to the man screams, people jump away like the bar’s on fire. Seconds later, Rex is on his knees, the guy between his legs, groaning from pain.
The dark-skinned hero picks the loser up by the collar of his shirt, bringing him very close to his face.
“Wrong move, motherfucker.”
With a speed of a blink of an eye, Rex stands up, dragging the guy with him and shoving him on the barstool.
He doesn’t waste a moment this time, and his fist crashes with the creep’s jaw with a crunch that definitely sounds like fractured joints. That’d suffice, as the man almost loses consciousness, but still tries to fight back. He manages to land one blow at Rex’s mouth, cutting his lip open.
He spits out blood, and then turns his head back to the creep, looking him in the eyes with nothing less than animalistic rage. It awakened something wild, primal even in Rex and he knows he simply cannot stop there.
Another hook lands at the loser’s face, and this time his jaw is definitely broken. Then, Rex bends his knee and shoves it in the guy’s sternum, making his breath catch in his throat.
From the crowd, someone calling for security can be heard, but it’s all background noise to Rex, he’s in an anger trance now.
His nostrils are flared, chest moving up and down fast, his heart pumping blood full of adrenaline driving him towards the one and only path he’s ever really known in his life—destruction.
Trying to grasp some air into his lungs proves difficult when Rex grabs the creep’s head and bangs it on the bartop with a bang so forceful, all the glasses jump, with some even falling to the floor and breaking into tiny pieces.
Someone shouts to call an ambulance, someone else says it’s the last time they came to this place.
Rex spots with a corner of his eye some nervous movement from the small crowd surrounding him and the loser. He also notices a metal shaker, and without thinking twice, grabs it and slowly charges it in his hand. A second before it’s too late, he stops himself, throwing the shaker to the floor before it’s actually ready to explode. So he sticks to the tried and tested—his fists.
Rex is almost at his final blow, when he feels a large, strong hand on his shoulder.
“That’s enough,” the large bouncer says, voice so low, it almost reaches the pits of hell. He drags Rex away from the creep who slips down like a puddle to the floor.
“You’re coming with me.”
“I’m only doing what you—hey!”
The bouncer grabs Rex by both arms, bringing them to his back. But he’s not pulling him in the exit’s direction, no. He’s taking him somewhere else, and Rex very much doesn’t like that.
“Let me go! Do you know who I am?!”
Rex struggles to break free from the grip, but the security guy’s just too strong, too big.
“I don’t care, boy. You can tell that to the police when they come.”
Rex tries kicking him, headbutting, but to no avail. The bouncer keeps him where he wants him.
And so Rex shoots him his worst look. “You’ll fucking regret that!”
“I doubt that.” The bouncer laughs and starts moving towards the front entrance, pushing Rex forward like he weighs nothing. “Now, shut the fuck up and stop writhing. It’s over.”
“No! Not fucking over!”
Rex finally manages to break free and then, he makes one of the biggest mistakes this evening (minus leaving you alone by the table) — he tries to punch the bouncer.
And that doesn’t end well for him, not one bit.
The bouncer knocks him out clean in one blow, making Rex fall to the floor like a puppet whose strings were cut loose.
—
Faint flickering of the light above brings Rex back to a somewhat conscious state. He’s lying down on the world’s thinnest mattress, extremely smelly at that. Sharp, pulsating pain on the left side of his head makes him groan, the spot raw to the touch. He sits up, and carefully, slowly, opens one eye to inspect where the fuck he’s at.
If not for his strong joints, his jaw would fall down to the ground.
He’s in a fucking jail.
Behind the bars, on the side of freedom once had, a police officer walks by, his shoes clicking with every step, patrolling the corridor of cells filled with mostly homeless people taken in either by pity or for simply daring to exist.
Rex swings his legs from the bunk bed, only to realize he doesn’t have any shoes on. His socks touch the wet, concrete floor. In a quick few paces, he’s standing at the bars, trying to ignore the seeping cold from underneath.
“Hey,” Rex starts casually, “c’mere.”
The guard doesn’t flinch, doesn’t grace him with even a quick glance.
“Officer,” he tries again, softer this time, “I have a question.”
The policeman stops and sighs deeply, closing his eyes at that. “What.”
“Can I make a call? I gotta get someone to bail me out.”
When no answer comes, Rex pushes even more, squeezing the bars for his dear life.
“I have a right to at least one call,” he states, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice.
The man in the corridor finally turns to him, squinting his eyes. “There’s no need for that.”
The redhead tilts his head, knitting his brows tight, trying very hard to not break down right here and now. “What? Why?”
“We got a call from D.C. and it turns out you got some friends in the higher-ups. You’re gonna be out tomorrow, give or take. ‘Hero’ or not, there’s still paperwork to do.” The guard does air quotations in a very obnoxious manner, setting Rex off.
“That’s too late! I have to leave today—my girlfriend’s in the hospital!”
“And so is the guy you almost killed with your bare hands.”
Rex holds his breath momentarily, stilling himself for the inevitable scolding he senses is coming.
“Man’s in a coma; ten bones broken, face so devastated he’ll probably need a new one, along with a new set of teeth.”
“He shouldn’t have roofied my woman then,” Rex mutters, turning on his heel, shoulders stiff at the memory of you, weak and limp like a ragdoll, slipping through his hands like sand.
“Maybe you should’ve kept her by your side then,” the guard scoffs and resumes his patrol walk, banging on the bars of another inmate’s cell.
“Fuck off.”
Normally, Rex would’ve lashed out more at the guy, but there’s no use. He knows how this works all too well; he has put tens if not hundreds of people behind bars. So he flops down onto the bunk bed, regretting it immediately when his back makes a cracking sound, and not the one that gives you relief.
He drags his hands down his face, cursing himself for ever taking you to that damn club. It’s all his fault, he fucked up, again. But hey, same old, same old. When did he ever not fuck up anything good he had in life?
The big, black clock on the wall above the exit shows a few minutes past 5 in the morning. You must already be in the GDA’s hospital, being taken care of and… all alone. Rex can’t stand the thought of you waking up without him by your side. The confusion that will most likely shake your whole being, followed by anger, disappointment and worst of it—regret.
All his restraint, him being on his best behavior—all for nothing. Completely lost because of some douchebag who chose you as his victim.
He should’ve found a way to go with you, try flying the damn jet behind you two. Or maybe just sit his ass for once and wait for Mark to get him as well. Or ask to be teleported, somehow. If Cecil could teleport machinery, armies, heroes from different parts of the world, then why…
Oh, shit.
Rex bites on his cheek and turns to the side, curling up like a fetus, hugging his knees tight to his chest.
Cecil probably—no, he absolutely knows already what happened. He also knows that his two best assets snuck out from the base without telling anyone besides Rae, jeopardizing any possible rescue mission that might have happened while you and him were grinding against each other on the dancefloor.
Great, so not only has he most likely lost his girl, but also his job. The only thing that was a constant among the chaos and madness that was his life. His whole persona, his fucking identity.
Rex lets his eyelids drop heavily over his tired, bloodshot eyes, hoping to fall asleep fast, and wait out this whole fucking nonsense.
—
“Get up, Sloan. You’re out,” says the guard, his voice barely coming through between loud banging noises. Does every fucking cop has to be so cliche and hit the bars with their bat?
Rex takes his sweet time to walk out of the cell, already completely disheartened. His whole body is stiff, both from sleeping in that rock-hard bunk bed, but also in the expectation of being berated like an unruly kid. He wonders, who did Cecil send this time. Not Rudy, that’s for sure. Though it would be one hell of a view, a kid version of himself bailing him out.
He hopes it’s not one of the so-called dads of the Guardians, Samson or Immortal. Though the latter is actually more of a great-grandfather of the team, and would probably feel too proud to even do such a thing anyway. But if he did, he’d bore Rex to death on the way to the base, his stoic, monotone voice lulling Rex to sleep like the best lullaby.
Maybe it's Donald, he runs errands like that for Cecil. Which would be the better option, as he’s usually rather quiet and has given up on lecturing Rex a long time ago. Donald would just take him to a diner, saying he knows how terribly they must have fed him in the jailhouse.
But the best person to take him from this shithole would be Rae. She’d definitely be pissed, screaming at him over a burger and fries, telling him bullshit threats, like their friendship is over, but eventually forgiving him sooner than later. And she’d definitely know—and tell without being asked—how you are holding up.
If… you’re even holding up at all.
Cold sweats run down his back at the thought; he shakes his head violently, trying to rid himself of the mental image of your unresponsive body. He searches his mind for a more happy, alive, memory of you, but your pale face and empty stare keeps coming back like a boomerang.
The guard gives Rex his belongings back, his shoes along with his phone, which he tries to unlock, but the battery’s dead.
Off to a great start.
The redhead glances around to check who’s his ride back home, but doesn’t see anyone besides the officers giving him disgruntled looks.
“Who’s bailing me out?”
“He’s waiting in front of the station.” The cop doesn’t look up from his phone, legs parked on his desk, swinging his foot impatiently. Rex rolls his eyes and sighs; so it’s not Rae. Chances of a warm meal dropped spectacularly low.
The sun blinds Rex the moment he steps to the sidewalk, and he brings a hand to cast a shadow on his face to be able to spot the familiar face that’s gonna bring him back to his own, comfy bed. The bed that holds a lot of memories, both good and bad, and almost all of them somehow intertwined with you.
He curses himself in his mind; how can he be thinking of his bed, when he should be focusing on the one that has your weakened, abused body.
His eyes finally get used to the bright, noon sunrays, but he still can’t see anyone around the building that actually bailed him out.
“Look up.”
Rex does so and groans, his arms immediately dropping in disbelief when he notices the figure floating a few feet in the air.
“M—Seriosuly? They sent you, the mighty Invincible? Shouldn’t you be, I dunno, saving the world?”
“I asked to come here myself.”
“Oh yeah? And how exactly are you gonna take me to the HQ, huh? I think you forgot a blanket. Unless, it’s only for her—”
“I’m not gonna take you anywhere. You got out of there somehow, you’re gonna get back there the same way.”
“What?! Then why’d you even come all this way?”
Mark flies down but doesn’t set down on the ground, only floats above it, inches from Rex’s face. His jaw is wound tight, teeth gritting like he wants to look scary. But he doesn’t, it’s impossible with such a puppy face, and Rex can’t help but stifle a laugh.
“What’s so funny, Rex?” Mark’s voice drops down an octave, the redhead ceasing to make any sounds at all. But doesn’t stop the hero from intimidating Rex more, no. He moves in closer, making the dark-skinned boy take a step after step back, until his back hits the rough brick wall.
“Why did you have to do this?”
“I—You know why, cut the shit, Mark.”
“Don’t call me that when I’m in the suit.”
Rex scoffs, but Mark leans in even closer and continues, his jaw clenched like a tight knot.
“Do you really have to be told everything, like a child? To wait for my call when she’s safe?”
Rex crosses his arms on his chest, raising a brow, all cocky demeanor, even though Mark’s words cut him deep like daggers. “And you want me to believe you wouldn’t have done the same? If your girlfriend—”
“I wouldn’t have left her alone,” Mark utters, voice low and quiet, this time actually dangerous.
Rex gulps, but doesn’t back down—he cannot at this point.
“She can take care of herself, you know? She’s powerful as fuck.”
Mark chuckles, but it’s dark, unforgiving. “And yet she ended up in a hospital.”
“Fuck off, Invincible.” Rex pushes off the wall, and starts walking slowly in the direction of the building he parked the jet at. “Thanks for nothing, dude.”
“You won’t even ask how’s she doing?” Mark shouts behind him, tone more cruel than ever.
Rex doesn’t turn to the floating hero when he retorts, “I already know she’s fine; you would be singing a different song otherwise.”
Rapid whooshing can be heard, the fallen leaves and dust getting up with Mark’s brisk take off. Rex’s shoulders drop an inch from relief; knowing you’re safe and made it.
And that Mark didn’t beat his ass.
—
People walking past Rex circle him around like he’s got the plague, staring at him, pointing fingers and whispering to each other. Some even gasp and take out their phones to snap a photo of Rex Splode, the Guardian of the Globe, walking around Salt Lake City with a black eye and bloodied knuckles, smelling like old gym shorts and regret.
But Rex doesn’t care, he can’t. He only goes forward, in hopes of walking out this tight ache nestled comfortably in his chest.
He only realizes he’s been wandering for hours when the sun starts to set, and he is nowhere near the designated landing building. He’s been lost in thoughts, replaying the events of the fatal evening.
How you smiled at him when you took his hand.
How your eyes flickered when he grazed his fingers along your waist; tingles like energy flowing between your bodies, tangled together on the dancefloor, swaying together in one smooth rhythm.
How everything felt right, like he actually made it; he really got you to trust him that it’s gonna work out. It had to.
But it didn’t.
Rex finally reaches the beat up block of flats that stood out like a sore thumb among other, newer and smaller buildings in the neighbourhood. He stands in front of the entrance, staring at the door, hands curled into fists in his bloodied khakis pockets.
The cool air licks his body, the sound of leafless trees’ branches crackling from the gushes of autumn wind; a certain forecast of a long overdue rain.
Where exactly is he supposed to go now? To the base; to take a shower and eat something, and trying to ignore the unforgiving stares and comments from the team? Or straight to the GDA, which would take hours, to see you, to check on you? If you’re still there at all.
He doesn’t feel like he deserves any of the options, and the urge to find a sketchy strip club or call one of his flings grows stronger with every passing beat. But somehow, he fights through the feelings of not being good enough for this world and finally moves forward, the decision where to head sitting heavy on his chest, leaving him almost out of breath.
maddie's scribbles: writing physical fights is harder than i expected
Track 21
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summary: Mark's on a type of mission he hasn't been on before.
rex splode x female reader
warnings and tags: +18, mdni, self-indulgent, canon divergence, angst, hurt no comfort, Mark's POV, drugged confessions
word count: 1621
a/n: i kinda lowkey hate this chapter, i don't know what possessed me to write in another POV in the fic 🫠 but i hope y'all enjoy this nonetheless
Track 17
The playlist
Mark hangs up with Rex and stares at his phonescreen utterly confused, scratching his head like a cartoon character with a surge of questions rushing in.
Why did Rex call him?
They aren’t exactly friends. And Bulletproof is on their team and he can fly her to the GDA. So even if he’s not with them, the base is still much closer to where they are than Mark’s house.
Another thing is—how did the drugs interfere with Banter’s abilities?
Of course, not everyone has the metabolism rate of a Viltrumite, but still—she’s superabled naturally, her powers are innate, so it must enhance her body's functions somehow. Right?
But most importantly—don’t they like… hate each other?
Mark shakes his head—not now. The questions can wait; Banter can’t.
“Okay,” he murmurs to himself, looking at the map on his phone. What Eve told him about needing geography has stuck with him—though he hasn’t improved much yet. “Area 52, Salt Lake City… There it is!”
In a matter of seconds he’s out of his pajamas, flying out his window in sweats. He immediately gets back inside and grabs something in the dark.
As he’s passing city after city, town after town, heading west to Utah, with a blanket in his hand, the questions come right back.
Mark heard they were into each other from the very beginning, then something—whatever it was— happened, and they stopped talking. Rex must have done something. Cheated, probably. At least, that's what Eve thinks. And she’s probably the only person in the community that actually knows him.
And now… Banter’s at a nightclub with Rex?
It definitely suits Rex, but her? Mark has never seen her as a loud party with neon lights and suffocating crowds type of person. They do say not to judge a book by its cover.
Their whole thing was seen as immature and a jeopardy to the already crumbling structure and bond of the Guardians. You do not mix your work life and love life, that’s a recipe for disaster. Mark knows he would never do that—it makes things far too complicated.
Not that a relationship with a civilian isn’t. It has been a bumpy ride for him, with Amber. Like a rollercoaster that’s missing one track and all the safety features kind of bumpy.
Something gets in Mark’s eye and he curses quietly. He should’ve just worn the suit; the goggles let him fly faster and not get some air debris into every orifice of his body.
Mark has heard that maybe it was to get back at Kate and Eve; using Banter as rebound.
But, if he cheated… then why did Banter take him back? That is, if she did.
“Shit!” A plane flies a little too close to Mark’s side and he barely dodges the wing.
He’s probably digging too much into this. He's not the gossip type; he doesn't stick his nose into other people’s business. His mom has taught him better.
But it is interesting nonetheless.
After getting lost a few times and changing the direction twice, Mark finally closes in on the city line. The hard part’s done—now to get to the club.
Mark realizes he’s flying low over the busy streets but remembers that people rarely look up, especially if they are serenading drunkenly, spilling out from clubs and bars alike.
After a moment, he notices them both from a far with ease, thanks to Rex’s unmistakable hair.
Mark slows down to a stop and hovers in the air above them, watching them carefully.
Rex is holding her unconscious body with gentleness that doesn’t suit him; her arms and legs limp on the dirty ground of an alley behind the club. Mark blushes when he catches himself focusing too much on how stunning she looks, even when she’s minutes apart from losing her already weak grasp on reality.
Not the right time, not the right place.
—
“Cecil, do you copy?”
Mark hears a deep sigh in his earpiece before any actual words. It’s confirmation enough.
“I’m on my way to the Pentagon, it’s… complicated. I have Banter here, she’s lost control of her powers. She was drugged—”
“Was Rex with her?” Cecil’s sharp, low voice cuts in.
Mark swallows thick, caught between wanting to protect them from even more trouble and not wanting to lie.
He decides honesty is always the best way.
“Yeah. He was.”
A long silence follows, before the man on the other side of the line finally speaks, voice colder than usual. “Bring her in.”
Mark furrows his brows, reconcentrating on the route to the GDA, keeping Banter close and wondering whatever happened at that club.
What kind of drug could rig with her so much that she lost all control of her abilities?
Mark looks down at the pitiful pile that’s Banter cocooned in his favourite blanket in his arms as he roams through the sky as fast as he can while keeping her safe. A sudden sound blast catches him by surprise and he nearly drops her.
“Hey, uhh… we’re in the air, so try not to…” Mark glances down and sees nothing behind her eyes, so he drops—quits—asking her to maybe keep her powers in check.
“M-Mark?” Her voice comes out extremely dry, barely above a whisper.
“Hi,” he replies softly, a gentle smile of relief stretching on his face. “Yes, it’s me. I’m taking you to the GDA med bay.”
“What… where’s Rex?” For the first time that evening, she consciously looks at him, with something so shattered behind her eyes it almost makes Mark’s throat thick.
“He… he stayed there, at the club. I couldn’t carry you both, but—”
“I’m cold.”
“I know, hold on a little longer. We’re almost there, okay?”
“He… was sorry, brought beers and,” she hiccups, “choc’late…”
She’s fighting to keep her eyes open, but the lids fall down heavily over her barely lit up eyes. Her body goes limp again and Mark’s pulse spikes—she’s getting heavy in that way that dying people do.
“Hey, hey! Stay with me—”
She opens one eye with effort and a faint smile. Mark wants to say she scared him, but he realizes, shamefully, that he has no idea what her real name is.
“What should I call you? Banter feels… too official.”
Somehow, she manages a weak laugh and rasps out her full name. Then, she continues to slur her words, mumbling incoherently.
“I—’ve never… met a guy… like him.”
“Yeah,” Mark scoffs, “me neither.”
“Hasn’t seen… Twilight bef’re…”
“Wait, for real?”
Mark thinks she fell asleep when he doesn’t get an answer for a while and her sound blasts get weaker and less frequent. So when her voice comes again, even smaller than before, his heart breaks a little.
“I hate… him… not. Want… him. Get’im to—me…”
“Okay, I will. I promise, I’ll go back for him when I know you’re safe.”
“Imma… puke…”
“Oh, nonono, please, don’t—we’re almost there!”
But when nature calls—there’s no way to stop it. So the contents of her stomach end up on Mark’s pants, his best blanket and some poor, unlucky person who decided to have a late night walk in D.C.
He sighs with relief when he finally sees the Pentagon on the horizon. Suddenly, he’s hit with a very unpleasant memory of bringing in Maya, the elderly woman, to the med bay when he first stumbled upon the Teen Team fighting the Flaxans. His stomach tightens, and he might join Banter in releasing its contents.
Somehow, he pushes down the feelings and lands on the helicopter parking sign.
“We’re here. You still with me?”
She hiccups again, followed by an almost retch. “Yeah…”
Mark rushes to the med bay and when he opens the door, the trauma staff is already waiting with a stretcher, geared and suited up to the teeth. Someone’s holding a ridiculously large needle and it makes Mark instinctively take a step back.
“We’ll need to sedate her—for her and our safety. Please, lay her down and let us take over.”
He can’t hesitate for too long as another surge of soundwaves shock him and the surroundings, making things fall to the ground from tables and counters. Mark helps to hold her down as a doctor gives her the sedative, making her stiff body relax under his fingers in a matter of seconds.
In a last burst of consciousness, she takes Mark’s hand and squeezes it weakly.
“Get… Splode. Please.”
Her arm flails dramatically from the stretcher and the medical staff wheels her into a corridor, leaving Mark alone in the entryway.
The moment the rotating door slows down, he takes out his phone and texts Rex. In the meanwhile, he texts Rae—Eve’s told him they were friends, and he doesn’t think Cecil will be kind enough to tell or explain the situation to the team.
He never is.
After no reply for at least fifteen minutes, Mark calls him. His socks rustle quietly over the linoleum flooring as he paces in circles, more worried than he should for some asshole he barely even knows.
After a few signals, it goes to voicemail, so Mark tries again. Then again.
And again.
“Come on, man… pick up.”
Still nothing.
Mark hangs up after trying to reach Rex ten times. Maybe he’ll call back soon.
Or maybe he’s already busy with someone else.
Mark shoves his phone into his pocket and curls his hands into fists so hard it would puncture his skin if it wasn’t almost impenetrable.
He’s not going to fly back and search for him like a panicked mother. And Rex didn’t even ask Mark to get back for him. So he won’t.
Mark decides to wait and stay with her—someone has to.
Track 19
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