#rex splode you

[splodencible]

warm embrace

rex splode x female reader

wc: 645 // based on this request

The metallic sound of the keys unlocking the door from the outside takes you out of dozing off to sleep. Normally, you’d have gotten up to open the door for him, but not today.

Today, you’re fighting for your life, buried in Rex’s hoodie, sweatpants and under your comfort blanket. You don’t even look up when the doors fly open, carrying his sharp smell of ozone into the apartment.

“Babe?” Rex toes off his boots and looks at you curled up on the couch with a slight worry on his face. “You good?”

“Nothing’s good and ever will be,” you mutter, voice coming muffled from under all the layers.

“Who do I gotta kill?” He chuckles, sitting on the floor next to you. Rex is not a violent man, but you also know there’s some seriousness to his question. 

“My uterus,” you whine, curling like a shrimp when another wave of cramps hit you.

“Oh my poor little baby,” Rex coos, petting your hair gently. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes in hopes of falling asleep, just so you can survive a few more hours without pain.

“I’m not a baby,” you retort in the most baby voice that would put Britney Spears out of work.

“To me you are,” he smiles. His eyes are soft as he smooths his warm hand down your cheek, and grazes his thumb over it. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Uh-oh.” It almost never ends well when Rex has an idea. But before you can think about it more, another cramp almost cracks you open. You squeeze your eyes shut and a whine slips past your lips.

“No, seriously.” Rex slowly removes the blanket from your head, revealing your C-shaped posture. “Scoot over, I want to help.”

“I’m really not in the mood for—”

“You don’t even know what I wanna do.”

You groan, ripping the blanket from his hand.

“Then tell me and I’ll think about it. Maybe.”

Rex sighs, visibly fighting with himself to not take this personally.

“Do you trust me?”

“Oh, come on, Rex! It’s not fair,” you snap back at him, which you instantly regret.

“I do,” you mumble and move to make space for him on the couch.

“Good,” he grins and takes off his jacket before joining you under the blanket. “You’re not going to regret it. I promise.”

You let out a small yelp when he fishes his hand down and under your hoodie—well, his. He places his palm on your lower belly, partially past your sweatpants, and looks at you with those bright, green eyes. As always, his skin is warm to the touch. This man is never cold, as befits a portable human heater.

“You ready?” Rex murmurs, voice soft around the edges.

You nod and gasp a moment later when Rex’s hand’s temperature rises quickly, heating your bloated stomach, the warmth seeping steadily through the layers of your skin. He only hums in satisfaction, for once his idea being good.

A relieved exhale slips past your lips and you let your eyes flutter shut heavily. Rex is applying the perfect amount of pressure over your angry uterus, forcing your tight muscles to relax.

Why did you ever use a heating pad? They’re actually quite uncomfortable and get cold too damn fast. But Rex? Rex is hot, inside and out

“Better?” He whispers, his lips brushing your ear, sound gently vibrating against your skin.

“Mmmm,” is the only thing you can say now with how mushy your brain is.

Rex takes your face into his other hand and kisses your forehead gently, then rests his chin on top of your head.

“I got you your favourite snacks,” he says quietly after a longer moment of shared comfortable silence.

“You love me,” you fake-sob, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“‘Course I do, my little shrimp.”

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divider by @enchanthings

[splodencible]

rex splode: the playlist

track 26: I lay in silence, but silence talks

summary: Weeks pass quietly and you barely notice.

rex splode x female reader warnings and tags: mdni, 18+, self-indulgent, canon divergence, kinda slow burn-ish in reverse?, angst, more plot incoming because i said so word count: 6433

Track 25

The playlist

A pounding headache wakes you up from your not so peaceful slumber. Your face is dry and itchy from all the tears streaming down your cheeks the whole night. You don't remember falling asleep, only crying, muffling your sobs with the pillow.

With a grunt, you pick yourself up, mattress shifting beneath you, bed frame screeching more than you remember it to. You press both of your palms into your temples, hoping to squeeze the throbbing pain out. Resigned, you get up, grabbing some fresh clothes and head to the showers. Probably won't help, but won't hurt either.

After an hour or so you're in the kitchen, your damp hair wetting your t-shirt, the sound of the mixer filling the space. Banana, protein powder, some oat-milk, and whatever else seems appropriate for a smoothie. Eating is low on your priorities list, but you know better than to skip breakfast.

You tense, hearing someone come in. When you share a place with other people, you learn the sound of their feet tapping the floor, so you don't need to turn to know who it is.

"And here I was thinking you'd quit the gig."

"Get lost, you cheap Invincible knock-off."

Zandale scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "While you were—"

With a swift move of your hand, you turn the volume of his voice down to zero and leave the kitchen, your smoothie and some painkillers in hand. Brushing past him gesturing widely, you can't help the slightest upturn of your lip corners. But the joy is short lived—he grabs your arm, way harder than necessary and pulls you back in, pointing at his mouth.

"Will you leave me alone if I unmute you?"

The only answer he gives is a glare which almost makes you laugh, but that would be scary otherwise.

"Fine," you sigh and spin your wrist, his voice coming back gradually, turning up like a dial.

"Don't you ever do it again, or—"

"Or what, huh? Want me to shut you up again, for good this time?"

Not waiting for his snarky reply, you turn on your heel and pad in the direction of your new room.

It feels invasive, being in his space. But at the same time, you know he wouldn't mind. Despite everything, Rex is an open book. You wonder where he'd draw the line, and if he actually would. Especially with you.

So you try to ignore the gnawing voice at the back of your head, telling you to leave at once, to stop snooping around his room for… clues, like you're in a god damn Scooby-Doo episode.

Another thing is, you had the opportunity to get to know him better. To ask him about things you're now looking for through his drawers, on your knees in his worn-out, holey t-shirt with your favorite band heavy on your shoulders; like a witness to your crimes.

But you just can't help it. In a very twisted way, you think it's something you should do. Gather as much trivia about this… man, to later surprise him with. To give him the clues. Because maybe you're not over it. Over him.

You open his wardrobe and expect to see clothes, but instead it's—of course—a big stash of magazines, some of which seem brand new, and some have seen better days. But it's not what actually catches your interest. On the shelf above the home decor magazines is quite an impressive collection of CDs. Given you two love the same band, you expect nothing less than absolute bangers.

An unwrapped CD packaging with a long, dark-haired, naked woman holding gently a… boar? a pig? lies on the top. You turn it to the back, trying to find the band's name or the album's title. Your brows knit together when you finally see it.

"Mannequin Pussy…?"

With a quick glance you locate a CD player and walk towards it, your socks rustling gently against the floor. "Hope you won't kill me for this," you mumble, tearing off the plastic foil and dropping it to the ground.

Heavy guitar riff starts almost immediately after a sweet-voiced, intelligible babbling intro. And then the drums hit hard, along with a woman scream-singing.

Your jaw goes slack, mouth gaping, your eyes darting between the album art and the CD player. You shouldn't be surprised, Rex always listened to darker, gloomier music when he was burying himself down in his room.

But this?

This was something else.

With your new angsty soundtrack, you start going through his stuff once again, shoving the guilt eating away at the back of your conscience, making up lame excuses in your head that he'd do the same if you switched places. And that yeah, maybe you'd have been livid, but also, deep down, you know would like that very much. So that's what you like to think of him in this scenario, as well.

More brand-new band tees than you ever saw him wear are pushed deep into his drawers, folded somewhat neatly, maybe even by him. Or maybe not. Who cares, really. What's more intriguing, is why he doesn't wear these around the base at all, only those worn out, holey shirts and workout gear?

There are few notebooks on the bottom shelf of his wardrobe, most of them empty if not for the first pages with some notes scribbled down or crossed out, and some very juvenile, but so very Rex dick drawings. You shake your head, snorting quietly and put the notebook away, when an envelope falls to the floor.

It's not sealed, and there's nothing written on it, no address or anything. You gulp down, your fingers hovering over it. For all the privacy violations you did today, this seems to be the line you're not willing to cross. So you hide it again, hoping that one day he'd show you what's inside.

Just when you want to move on to his desk and the drawers you haven't checked, you flinch as the alarm blares off. You groan out of habit, but immediately start stripping, jumping on one leg in search of your hero suit. Running and shouting can be heard in the hallway, and you hear Immortal's bass mixing with Rudy's prepubescent high-pitch.

It'd be a lie to think you're dreading some action; it's why you agreed to come back in the first place. You need something to take your mind off things, someone to beat up, something to smash, destroy, obliterate.

The floor creaks under your weight when you jump off the ledge of the jet, tired yet unsatisfied. Yeah, there was some action. But not as much as you'd like.

The mission was chaotic and dragged on, the team visibly understaffed with three of their best assets gone. Some freaks from The Order, or whoever the fuck, sent in a group of young thugs to terrorize a charity gala, hoping to score some diamonds off of rich-necks.

You blasted a few of them easily away, but Bulletproof got on his high horse and decided he had to teach everyone a lesson, including the wealthy donors. And that's when the all hell broke loose.

As the smug yellow-suited asshole lectured everyone on the inequalities of social justice, few of the masked robbers sneaked away. You wanted to catch them quietly, but Monster Girl had to throw a tantrum and started screaming at the fleeing villains, chasing them like cat a mouse.

All the while Rudy–Robot–whatever; started debating Zandale about the importance of class consciousness, you almost lost it. You were seconds away from obliterating everyone with your echo pulse, but instead, you focused, took a deep breath and aimed your spells at the villains, and they all dropped to the ground like rag-dolls.

Along with most of the attendees.

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying?!" Immortal's shout takes you out of your thoughts.

"No," you reply without a blink and move past him, dreaming of a shower, your body sticky with sweat and blood and expensive perfume. "I'm not really a good listener."

Getting back in the game meant you had no time for yourself, again.

Intrusive, obsessive, uncomfortable thoughts couldn't surface while you were blasting alien creatures into space.

Which was a good thing.

But you also couldn't see Rex and Rae as much as you'd like, your visits getting less frequent over time. Whenever you could, you begged Rudy to fly you to DC, or asked Cecil to teleport you to the hospital, ignoring his comments about taxpayers money. Like he actually cared.

Rex has commented once recently you didn't look good even if you assured him otherwise. It wasn't mean and you knew he was right. So when tonight seemed to be a possibility of a peaceful couple of hours, you took it.

Toiletries bag in hand, you head to the common bathroom for a self-care night in. You hum a song from one of Rex's albums you've been listening, stepping into the shower cubicle. Tonight it's about you, and your comfort, so you give yourself permission for water that' just right—not scorching hot or ice cold. Your sore muscles loosen under the comfortable weight of the spray, soothing your racing mind filled with unwanted worries.

You try to focus on good memories, but there's so little to choose from, your mind reverts back to its old ways.

Rex is going to make it, you know it. His recovery is shocking to all the staff, even when you take into consideration his healing abilities were enhanced when they grafted molecule chargers into his nerve endings. So it's not him, for once, who occupies your mind rent free.

It's Rae.

She's still unconscious, her body slowly knitting itself back, nerve by nerve, tendon by tendon, bone by bone.

No one is supposed to make out of something like this alive. And yet, she did.

And so did Rex.

But he only did it because he's a stubborn asshole.

And Rae… Rae was lucky. Or unlucky, depending on the angle.

Or both.

The base is still too quiet without her laugh, without Rex watching some obnoxious fail compilations. From time to time, you can hear Rudy and Amanda talking, giggling, the feeling between them blooming slowly.

Immortal doesn't leave his chambers if not for the trainings and missions. As much as you want to loathe him, he's still grieving. And for that he has your sympathy.

With the team spending more time on their own, not so much in the common spaces anymore, you now tend to wander around the HQ, enjoying peace and quiet whenever you can with a good book or some not-so-good doom-scrolling.

But you avoid Rae's room like a plague.

You open your eyes with a gasp—you're still in the same place, now lukewarm water flowing down your back.

"Fuck," you whisper, leaning on the shower wall. The cold seeps from the tiles to your skin, the contrasting sensation bringing you back to your body, to the cold and empty bathroom.

You can't put it off any longer, even though you've been dreading it for days now. Quickly finishing your wash, you decide it's time. Rip the band-aid off and be done with it.

The fabric of your pajama shirt (actually a Rex's band tee) clings wet to your back, your hair still damp from the shower. You're standing frozen in front of a closed door, the one that leads to her room.

Rae's room.

"Now or never," you mutter to yourself and turn the knob, but don't step in immediately, only peep inside. It looks like she just went out to grab some snacks and will be back any moment now. Her place is still alive, vibrant, and so her.

Your throat gets thick, but you swallow it down and get inside.

It feels wrong, being here—but only because you've been putting it off for far too long.

Her bed is still unmade, piles of clean laundry toppling over its weight on the mattress and the floor. So you take deep breath in and get to work.

You start with separating casual wear, gym gear, and her suits. The regular clothing is the easiest, and you take your time folding every t-shirt, pair of underwear, sweatpants. With the amount of time you've spent here, you know where Rae keeps her stuff. You put everything away with the utmost care, as if you're handling a newborn child.

The stash grows smaller and smaller until you're left only with her combat gear.

Some seem to be brand new, others barely used and only a little mended, a stitch here or a patch there. You hang each costume in her wardrobe, just like she prefers. She always said it was the easiest way to grab it when the time came.

So when you're left with the last one, you sit down with the suit in your lap, the fabric stretching thin between your fingers, with holes beyond repairing and stubborn stains that wouldn't come off no matter how harsh chemicals would have been used.

The fabric darkens with the first tear that rolls down your chin, then another, until it's a downpour. Your shoulders shake as you hide your face into the suit, completely void of her comforting smell, replaced by acid and soap.

The base is quiet, if not for your broken sobs cutting through the stale air.

You've made yourself at home in Rex's room, only stopping by at yours to collect whatever you needed, staying there as little as possible. But you haven't come to Rae's room again, you couldn't.

It's been weeks since you've been there.

Same with the hospital—the world still needs saving, and it doesn't care if you're going through a mental health crisis, almost losing both of your closest people in one go.

Your phone buzzes from time to time, number of unread messages from Rex and Eve growing steadily. Guilt is eating away at you, yet you can't make yourself reply. What would you even say? That you're too tired? Busy with being a hero while they—

The alarm blares through the walls, and you move on autopilot. Maybe today you'll get what you crave—to purge.

Your ears are ringing, chest heaving as you kneel on the ground, some fuckass asshole between your legs, already unconscious.

But you don't stop—you can't.

His jaw crunches when your fist meets his face with more force than you ever thought you possessed. You hear screaming, wild and broken, and it takes you a while to register it's actually you.

With your fingers interlaced into a fist, you raise your arms above your head, ready to pass the final blow, but a steady, strong hand stops you. You slowly gaze to the side, eyes widened with animalist rage, blood trickling down your nose and chin, and see Immortal with nothing but a concerned look on his face, blocking the sun.

"Enough," he commands.

Your eyes dart around the battle scene—rubble on the ground, civilians dead or badly injured, groaning and whining, the rest of the villains tucked away, barely conscious, waiting for appropriate authorities to throw them to prison. And when you glance down at your victim, your head starts spinning and your stomach tightens—

You jerk to the side, retching, your undigested breakfast landing on the sidewalk.

The man beneath you has almost no face left, bones and muscles sticking out in unnatural directions, eyes gone under the black, puffed up skin. You collapse forward, then barely roll to the side, vomiting some more. Your whole body is trembling, arms shaking like leaves on the wind as you try to prop yourself up, but it proves fruitless.

The sun warms your skin, drying down the blood from your busted lip; distant echoes of sirens mix in with birds chirping and jets propellers spinning above you. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you fight to keep them up, but the void sucks you in, and you pass out.

A sharp, cutting pain through your ribcage takes you out of sleep, and you're immediately blinded by harsh, fluorescent lights.

You're back at the hospital.

On your left is Annabelle, checking your IV drip; the try by her hip covered in bloodied gauze and bandages. Slowly, very slowly, you look to your left, and see a knee nervously jumping up at down, the person sitting on a wheelchair. It takes too much effort to look up, but you're glad you do when you see Rex's face.

"Heard you went ballistic," he quips, but his tone is flat, there's no humor in it.

"I—I guess, yeah. Don't remember much, though." You try to sit up, but Annabelle's gentle hand lands on your shoulder, delicately pushing you back down to lay on the mattress.

"Try not to move too much, alright?" She tilts her head, her warm eyes darkened with a shade of worry. "You've fractured your ribs."

Shit.

That would explain painful breathing, then.

"Am I in trouble?" You ask Rex with a broken, raspy voice. He doesn't respond for a second, only slurps on his juice box, his gaze undecipherable.

"Ask him," he moves his head towards the door and you instantly recognize Donald's sad frown.

Fuck.

"Rex," Donald starts, his voice soft and quiet, taking measured steps toward you. "Would you be so kind to—"

"No," you cut him off with a whimper. "He can stay."

Rex sighs, his lips turning into thin line as he glances at your wounds, his eyes following the path of pain, destruction, and brutality.

"Go on, Donald," you wave at him, shutting your eyes close when a dull pain strikes you like a lightning. "But be straight about it."

"We would like you to attend counseling," he states simply, his palms folded together over his chest.

"Of course," you laugh, the sound bitter and rough. "Because I beat up a guy?"

"Because you lost control," Rex chimes in, surprising both you and Donald.

"You're the one to speak," you mutter.

"Yeah. I'm exactly the one, Ban." Rex puts the juice box to the nightstand and reaches over to you, his hand warm against your arm. "I've been there. I've done it. I know what it's like."

Silence that follows sits heavier on your shoulders than your icepack on your chest, the air getting heavier with every second that passes.

"We've been also told there are some…" Donald pauses, gesturing slowly with his hands, "tensions within the team."

"Well, no fucking wonder," you scoff, cruel smile painting your features. "Kate's dead, Rae's unconscious and Rex…" You look at the once-redhead, at the metal brace around his head, his bloodied eye and healing cuts scattered across his face. "Rex is still here."

"And now so are you." He squeezes your arm lightly, trying to muster up a smile, but it's bleak, void of his usual cheer he has around you. You avoid his eyes, terrified he might see in yours what drove you over the edge, what you've been doing at the base, in his room.

"How long do I have to stay here?" Your question hangs in the air, none of the man present actually equipped to answer it.

"Maybe two or three days," Donald informs. "Your rib fracture is very shallow and should heal quickly on its own."

You nod, grateful for the first time since…

"Can I go back to the base tomorrow?"

"If you insist," he replies after a beat, visibly disappointed.

"I do," you stare at the man in the suit, looking at your bloodied, swollen face in the reflection of his glasses. "I can't be here anymore, Donald. I hate this place and you know it better than anyone else."

"I don't like being here either," Rex adds, voice so small it makes your heart skip a beat.

"But I'll be visiting you again, yeah?" You finally look into Rex's eyes; they're hollow, tired, and sunken. Just as yours. "Especially now that I have to see a shrink."

"Yeah, sure." Rex smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Your insides twist with something else than pain of fractured bones and sore muscles.

"I'll have someone send over the schedule for your counseling appointments later in the day," Donald says as he turns to the door. "So please, consider it. But if you'd like to talk to someone… else—just remember I'm here."

With that, he gives you a nod and leaves, just as quietly as he appeared.

You run a hand down your face, wincing at the few sore points along. Glancing at Rex between your fingers, a weak frown forms on your face.

"Don't look at me like that," you mumble, barely audible.

"You better tell me what the fuck happened."

"I don't know, man." You blow a raspberry, at a loss for words. "It just… fucking happened. I blacked out with rage."

"Tell me about it," he leans back on the wheelchair, head falling heavily back.

None of you say anything for a while, the quiet hum of the AC a constant soundtrack, a light bulb flickering above you a shy reminder that everything in life passes; that everything has its expiration date. The thought fills you with both dread and relief.

But when you peek at him, the comfort of the realization wins over fear.

"Well," Rex straightens, clapping a hand on his thigh, and that stupid, adorable grin is back on his face. "At least now we're even."

"Yeah," you snort. "I guess we are."

"You really gonna come here regularly now? For therapy?" He asks, sheepish, and you know he means something else by that. He wants you to get better, sure. But he also want you to visit him, too. And you should; if anyone knows how excruciatingly lonely this place can get, it's you.

"Maybe," you omit and look away, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling you always get when you lie.

"Already leaving?" Eve's voice comes from behind you, and you turn your head to the door, caught mid-packing. She's leaning on the door, warm smile on her radiant face. Quitting the hero business suits her well.

"I've been here long enough," you sigh, closing off your bag full of meds and gausses. "Aaand… They want me to start therapy."

She chuckles, rolling her eyes. "So that's why you're running."

"I'm not—" you let out an exasperated sigh and plop down on the bed. "Whatever. I'll try to attend counseling, if my busy life lets me. Which—I doubt that."

"Fair," she nods and sits next to you. "But you can talk to me."

"Or Rex," she adds after a moment, placing her palm on top of your hand. Her skin is soft to the touch, as if unscathed by any amount of pain, fighting and hardship. "He doesn't have much going on right now and I'm sure he wouldn't mind some company."

Your stomach tightens, threatening to eject whatever's in it once again. Rex must have told Eve you stopped visiting, and its not like you were avoiding him. Life has just been hectic, and of you keep telling yourself that, maybe you'll actually start to believe it.

"Look, I'm sorry I've been MIA, it's just—" you gesture vaguely, trying to find right words, but for once, they don't come. "Fuck, Eve. It's a lot. It's too much."

She curls her other arm around your back, pulling you closer until your head rests on her shoulder.

"I know."

It's been so long, too long, since someone offered you comfort. Or rather, since you've accepted it.

"I'm not sure you do," you mumble, playing with the hem of her shorts.

"Try me then."

"I haven't been here in years," you start, slowly. "And now, over the last few weeks I've spent more time in this hospital than I do in my own room." Technically, it's not a lie—you don't spend time in your room at all. "So it's just adding more trauma to an already cursed place."

"But that's not all, is it?"

You sigh, buying yourself more time. There's literally no point in hiding and deflecting anymore. Whatever veil of mystery you were trying to wear, it's been blown off by the wind of life.

"It's not." Your mouth goes instantly dry, throat thick and heavy. "It's about Rae. And Rex, too. And the team, or whatever's left—damn, Eve." You wipe the tear that threatens to fall from your eye. "You sneaky little thing. You sure do know how to make someone spill their guts."

She exhales air through her nose, something reminiscing a snort.

"I'm not playing you, just… I know this life all to well."

"But," she leans away so she could look into your eyes, hers bright green and warm, with softness unbecoming of one of the most powerful superheroes to date. "You don't owe me every single detail. Just remember—you don't have to carry your burdens alone."

Her words sink in deep, deeper than you've let anything settle down in your bones for a while. You look at her, studying her kind face, taking in every little line and curve of her round features. How could Rex ever fuck up so badly with a woman like her? She's a literal angel, an embodiment of perfection.

Or maybe a better question is, how could a catch like Eve ever fall for a mess like Rex?

Well, you're the one to speak.

"Why are you so nice to me?" You ask after the silence feels stretches for too long.

"Why not?" She replies simply.

It's just that for her; why would she do anything else? It's not like you've hurt her or anything, but you haven't done anything for her, either. Then again, it was the same with Rae. She gave you kindness and comfort not asking for anything in return.

"I just hope it's not because of…" you pause, swiping your tongue over your lower teeth, " because of Rex."

"What?" Eve brings her brows together, scoffing. "Pfft, no. I like you."

The confession stings, but it's a nice feeling, leaving you all warm and fuzzy inside.

"That's it?"

"Of course," she smiles reassuringly, rubbing up and down your arm. "You're badass, strong and so well-rounded."

You scoff.

"I mean it," Eve squeezes your arm and looks at you again, with more seriousness than before. "You're valuable because of who you are, not through a connection to a boy who only knows how to explode stuff."

That earns her a smile from you, a small one, but real nonetheless.

"He knows a thing or two more than that, though." You mutter, resting your head again on her shoulder.

"Yeah," Eve sighs and lays her head on top of yours, "a thing or two." The way she says it makes you think of their history, shared traumas, how strong of a bond they had—and still kinda have, despite everything that happened. She keeps visiting him, bringing him magazines and sneaking in snacks so the nurses can't see. Or even just creates them herself, out of thin air. Which reminds you—

"Can you make me a hot chocolate with marshmallows?"

Dirt flies up in the air when the jet gets into air, your hair getting in your face, leaving you alone in the landing hangar of the Guardian's HQ. You watch the machine fly away, getting smaller and smaller until it disappears behind the horizon.

The sun is setting slowly behind the cold, quiet mountains. The view brings a chill to your body; it's both breathtakingly beautiful and absolutely terrifying. Its duality is eerily similar to the hero life—amazing when you get to save lives, when you see the hope and relief in people eyes when they know Guardians will protect them; but also horrible when you stop to think what atrocities you must commit in order to keep the planet safe.

The countless lives you've taken, some of them innocent, just to save a few. You never stop to think whether you made more people expire than kept them alive, because the statistics would not be to your liking. You sigh, letting your shoulders drop, their constant tension reminding you that you are very far from okay.

On the way your new room, the sirens blast, announcing yet another tragedy striking through Earth. Even though you were told to sit your ass down for at least two days after fracturing your ribs, you get into your suit in the hallway and run towards the exit point.

Yet another world crisis is much better than another lonely night.

Though this one was an overkill, you think, as you slump towards the showers, covered in dirt and blood, almost 24 hours after you left the base. You wince as you look back at the trail of grime you've left behind, your boots and suit torn and shred up to oblivion.

In the common bathroom you carefully dispose of whatever's left of your costume, trying not to cause more damage to your already broken ribs, and throw the suit into the incinerator. You could put it in the basket for repairs, but it serves no point. Art can make a buck with churning out a new set of suits for you and other heroes. A glimpse of a smile paints your face when you think of the man.

"Hey there, kiddo," the tall, gray-haired man squinted his eyes at you, his face warm and welcoming, something in it telling you he was trustworthy. He stepped closer, reaching with an open palm. "I'm Art Rosenbaum, super-suit tailor by night."

"And by day?" you asked, hesitant to take his hand.

"A regular one," Art winked, still with his hand stretched towards you. "If you're ever in need of a dress, or your pants are just too long, I have a good discount for my regular customers."

You let out a small laugh and finally slid your palm into his, telling him your full name.

"So, what can you do? I assume you have some impressive powers given I had a call about you from the man, Cecil Stedman, himself."

"I can manipulate sound," you replied simply, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty of your abilities. It always confused people when you tried to give them details of what exactly you could do.

"That's a starter," he hummed and walked over to a floor to ceiling tall wardrobe. "Any preference as for the color?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, pondering. It would be your signature color for the rest of your hero career, so it was better to choose wisely.

"Just tell me your favorite one," Art said after a minute or two, when he noticed you were unsure. So you did just that.

"Have you decided on a name?" He asked, laying out different shades of the chosen color on the working bench for you to choose.

That one was easy. You'd had one since the moment you started your new life in the GDA, dreaming of becoming a full-fledged superhero like the Guardians of the Globe.

"I have," you nodded, proud smile on your face. "It's Banter."

"Clever," he chuckled and started taking your measurements.

The door to Rex's room closes quietly behind you, your feet leaving wet imprints on the wooden floor as you near the bed. You didn't bother drying up completely and just slid on one of his t-shirts. Minus your suit, you've been living almost entirely in his clothes, something you try not to think about too much, letting yourself have at least that comfort.

He'd probably love the view of you being swallowed by his hoodies and shirts, and would also almost certainly roast you about it until your last day on Earth.

Which might come any time. Sooner than later, at that.

You shake your head, as if to physically throw away the anxiety that's been a constant recently. Maybe tonight it will be different, maybe you won't end up curled on the mattress, bloodshot eyes from little sleep and definitely too much crying, playing tragic scenarios in your head.

So you try anything that might help, trying to keep somewhat of a routine to soothe your restless mind. Calming music, some self-care, journaling in one of Rex's many notebooks. And it seems to do the work, not every time, but it's still better than none.

But tonight, it doesn't do the trick, as you lay on the bed in the dark, whole body moisturized and a night face mask on, gentle music playing quietly from a speaker set on the bedside table. The images of Rex's open skull and missing arm along with Rae's swollen face and fractured body are burned into your brain forever. It could have been you, too. But it wasn't.

And you don't know which is worse—the fact you narrowly escaped sharing their fate, or that you feel you should have gone through the same as they did, if not worse; ending up like Kate, gone from the face of Earth despite being able to literally multiply herself.

Your phone vibrates with a notification, but you don't bother checking it. It's probably Rex, or some spam text. You hope it's the latter, even though it's highly unlikely. He's been texting you a lot recently, and for whatever reason it's hard for you to text back. Days between your replies stretch to the point you feel terrible about it, knowing how much you scolded him for terrible communication on his part.

You groan and squint when the screen lights up, almost blinding you in the complete dark of the room. It's an email from an online store you bought something once and forgot to unsubscribe from their newsletter. Your heart sinks a little lower with disappointment.

Maybe you could text him—or no, not now, it's like 3 am. Rex would be on your ass for not sleeping while you can, given the life you lead.

Tomorrow, then.

Tomorrow comes and brings another fucking crisis, this time somewhere in Europe, some plant-obsessed super-villain making trees grow everywhere. On the surface level, it doesn't seem that bad, but the moment you saw roads broken with trunks, entrances to the metro and buildings closed off by vines, cars toppled over by massive shrubs, you know it's going to be another hard day.

And so is the next day, and the next one. Criminals, villains and some monstrous aliens pop out of thin air everywhere, terrorizing people, threatening governments and straight up murdering world leaders. When you defeat one, three more appear, like a hydra. Again, and again. It never stops, no matter how hard you try.

It's a lost fight, and it always has been.

After a couple of weeks of non-stop missions, your muscles are constantly sore, bones aching, your breathing more shallow and painful with your ribs still not fully healed, you realize you haven't visited the hospital even once.

It gnaws on you so much so that you just hid your phone in a drawer, unable to look at unread texts from Rex piling up, missed calls from Donald and the hospital, your therapy sessions schedule pending your confirmation.

Running away from your problems is not something you'd have ever thought you'd do, most of your life you faced them right away, wanting to get them over with. But the last few weeks, it's been different. Like something in your core had fundamentally changed, yet you can't put a finger on when and what exactly.

But you barely recognize yourself anymore, and you don't like what, and who, you've become. A shell of your former self, someone you'd pity. And you hate it.

"The hell's wrong with me?" You mutter under your breath, curling your fingers into fists in your hair, pulling on them hard enough to ground you. Pain is a helpful tool, keeping you in the present instead of letting your mind roam free into dark corners of your psyche.

You sit up on the bed and turn the bed lamp on with resolve. You're not a coward, or at least you like to think you're not one. Powerful criminals and crazy monsters don't scare you, then why you're shaking at the thought of visiting Rex? Or even just texting him? It's stupid.

"So fucking stupid," you laugh dryly at yourself and take your phone out of the drawer. It's dead.

While you wait for it to charge, you're picking on the skin around your nails until you draw blood. Your knuckles are bruised and skin scraped from all the fighting you've been recently doing. When the smartphone finally turns on, you take a deep breath and start with the easy part—reading missed texts from Eve.

She's not pushy in them, only gently reminding you that she's here if you need her. Before the Lizard League attack you barely knew her, only saw her a handful of times. Despite that, you've grown fond of her, and she seems to really like you too.

While going through your inbox, you notice texts from Amanda and even Rudy, too. They're both worried, each in their own way. It should make you feel good, grateful to have so many people around being nothing but kind. And in this business, there are many other people and problems to focus on, yet they choose you.

But it doesn't make you happy, not even close. You're not sure you actually deserve it, given how you haven't offered anything in return, only worry. And you hate to be that person; to be the reason for their concern.

To be the reason Rex is upset.

He's got enough on his plate right now, so you feel like shit adding more weight on his bruised shoulders. With a sigh, you scroll to his contact name, and when you see it, your head lulls down with disbelief.

explosions guy 19 unread messages

If the roles were reversed, you'd have been furious. And he's clearly not, or at least you hope so. Still, you don't bother actually reading the texts, not ready for your stomach to drop with guilt, and just start typing. You let your thoughts flow through your fingers, writing like a maniac with a speed that would put a professional typist to shame. When you're done, you don't proofread it, only hit send and slam the phone face down on the bed.

This night, for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep peacefully.

a/n: here's the song, I Got Heaven, that Banter was listening to while going through Rex's stuff. thank you @cheeyan for recommending me the band, it's amazing!!!

also, sorry that it took me this long to update, i in fact, have not written a word on the plane lol. but the new season drop helped me push through finishing the chapter!

Track 27

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divider by @dividers-are-us

[splodencible]

window to your heart

rex sloan x gn!curly!reader

word count: 833

tags and warnings: 1980s AU, meet cute, love at first sight, smoking, civillian Rex, curly hair reader

It was a sunny afternoon in the summer of 1984.

The city was quieter, the streets emptier, and your dog, a poodle called Agatha, was leading the way. Her freshly washed and trimmed fur was shining in the sun, faint smell of a dog shampoo lingering behind her. No matter how many times you've crossed this exact path going back home from the park with her, everyone's heads turned at the sight of you two. It never failed to make you lip corners lift, and you had your 11-year-old self to thank for choosing the one puppy from the litter with the exact coat color as your curls.

For some reason, that day, Agatha was pulling harder than usual, choosing new ways to get to your apartment. And you let her, more than happy to bathe in the golden rays just a little bit longer. Little did you know, you would be thanking her for the rest of your life she chose to take a left instead of a right just before your block.

You heard it first, the iconic bassline of Every Breath You Take by The Police. Your head snapped up at the familiar sound, and that's when you saw him. And you stopped in your tracks, the view nothing short of angelic.

He was sitting on the window sill of his ground floor apartment with windows open wide, music spilling from his room to the otherwise empty sidewalk, cigarette between his fingers. His long, auburn hair were resting on his shoulders, shimmering in the afternoon light, almost like catching fire. His face was made up of sharp lines and edges, with his sharp, hooked nose tying everything into a breathtaking, cohesive image.

The man was already facing you, his round, green like forest trees eyes set on you, glancing at your dog every other second. For a while, none of you speak, taking in the view, both of you glad that every decision you've ever made led you right to this moment.

"They say dogs look alike their owners." His voice was low and warm, his mouth sharpening with a smirk that made your knees buckle. Agatha sat at your feet, panting, her nose pointing at the man like he's a treasure she found just for you. "Or the other way round," he added, taking one last drag of his cigarette before putting it down in the ashtray.

"Haven't seen you before," was all you managed to utter, failing to calm your heart pumping wildly against your ribs.

"I just moved here a week ago," The redhead tilted his head, eyelids drooping heavily over his glimmering, emerald eyes. "You live around?"

"Yeah, just two blocks away."

His eyes dragged slowly from the tip of your head, down to your toes, stopping at your loyal companion who was now laying on the pavement, patiently waiting for either one of you to make the first move.

"Wanna listen to some music?" The man broke the silence first, shifting on the window sill, pointing with his head to the inside of his place.

"Do you have Madonna by any chance?" You replied quickly but confidently, getting back your footing now that the beautiful man has invited you in.

"The whole album and two singles." He sounded nothing short of proud. Whether of you or himself, you wouldn't know. Not like it mattered at the time.

Without a word, you reached down and grab Agatha by the bum and below her front paws, before handing her to the redhead. He quickly jumped off the window sill, taking your poodle from you, your fingers brushing. The first contact with his rough skin has sent a lightning down your veins, right to your heart.

Then, he reached his hand out to you, and you grabbed his palm into yours, clasping it hard before climbing to his place through the window. When you hopped over the ledge, you lost your balance, but the man caught you in his arms, pulling you close to himself.

And in that moment you both just stood there, eyes glimmering with excitement and hope, chests flush together. It was like the time has slowed down, your skin tingling, head getting dizzy.

"What's your name?" You said weakly, barely hiding the tremble in your voice.

"I'm Rex," he replied smoothly, still not letting you go. "You?"

A smile crept up your face as you gave him your name. Rex repeated it carefully, as if trying how it rolls of his tongue, his face showing he liked the way it tasted in his mouth.

That afternoon, you, Rex and Agatha stayed in, going through his impressive vinyls collection, music cutting through the thick clouds of cigarette smoke.

That afternoon quickly turned into the night, and then another.

It wasn't until two days later you finally got back home, completely ignoring your mother's screams and chastises, focused on the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

It was then, that your life has truly started.

maddie's scribbles: is the title sappy? maybe. but! it's based on a true story—this is how my parents met!

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divider by @huraxy-dividers

[splodencible]

rex splode: the playlist

track 1: did i leave a mark on your neck?

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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divider by @dividers-are-us

[splodencible]

rex splode: the playlist

track 20: don’t hold back

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

⬅️ main masterlist

⬅️ Rex Splode masterlist

if you enjoyed reading, click here to sign up for my taglist so you'll never miss an upload ❤︎

🔥 taglist: @cheeyan @queen-of-gotham @arrivedercis @brokenbillionaires-club @n0isypeech @enchantedstarfish @spaghetti6622 @not-a-robot1 @poetryearns @halloween666lover @x-intothevoid-x @woahhajime @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @colonelfish @fanneartist @nishiology

divider by @dividers-are-us

[splodencible]

rex splode: the playlist

track 21: won't you please spare me indignity?

summary: Your unannounced guest makes you reveal your heartbreaking secret.

rex splode x female reader warnings and tags: mdni, 18+, self-indulgent, canon divergence, kinda slow burn-ish in reverse?, angst, hurt/some comfort, medical trauma word count: 3135

maddie's scribbles: so this is gonna be very sad

Track 20

The playlist

Your breath is stuck in your throat, words unable to leave your mouth, if you could even form any logical sentences when your brain still feels mushy as hell. He doesn’t turn yet, waiting for you to come up. The door closes quietly behind you, your foot pushing it gently to a shut.

“I’m the one that should be asking that,” you finally manage to utter, dropping your bag to the floor. The room’s getting darker with every second, as you refuse to turn the lights off, not ready to actually face him. Because when you do, you’ll no longer be able to postpone the inevitable.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning seemingly casual on the door, though your heart has ridden up to your throat.

“Got nothing to say now?”

His body sways rhythmically with every breath he takes, the bleak light somehow not washing off the auburn hues of his hair. He turns slowly, almost as if not to scare you, or maybe because he too knows what seeing eye to eye with you will bring.

“I missed you,” he mutters, taking measured steps in your direction, fidgeting with something smooth and small in his hand.

“Oh really? Then why didn't you come to the hospital?”

Rex stops at that, his face barely visible in the dark, but you can still tell he’s hurt by your words.

“I couldn’t. I wanted to, just… something stopped me.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” you scoff, a cynical smile growing across your features. “Is this the same ‘something’ that made you vanish last time?”

After a long stretch of silence sitting too heavy on your ribs, making it difficult to grasp a proper breath, you switch the lights on. And what you see breaks your heart despite the anger wounding you tight; despite resentment towards him shaking your whole body.

You’re at his side momentarily, hand reaching hesitantly to his face. His eyes follow your movements and when you retreat inches away from his scabbed mouth, you swear you can see his irises turn a little grayer, sadder.

“Oh my God, Rex! What—what happened to you?”

As if history is replaying itself, he’s oddly quiet for himself. He only puts something in his hoodie’s pocket, and takes your hand to guide it to his face, resting his palm over yours. Your chest twists tight when you notice his swollen, reddened knuckles.

“What did you do, Rex?” You spit through clenched teeth, removing your hand from his cheek like you burned yourself with wildfire.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His jaw works continuously, eyes darting away from your face. “I’m here now. And, thank God, you’re here too.”

“It doesn’t matter?” You scoff. “Are you hearing yourself?! Rex, you have to tell me where the hell have you been.”

He flicks his eyes across your room, avoiding your intense gaze staring him down. 

“I was… occupied.”

You gasp, throwing your hands wildly in the air. “Do you take me as a complete idiot? That I’m this naive?”

“No! Fuck no. It’s just better you don’t know—”

“But I want to know. The whole truth. Even if it’s ugly.”

He contemplates, staring at the floor, then back at you, observing your face, trying to decipher every and any microreactions.

“You were in a fight, weren’t you?” You say quietly, more resigned than worried or angry anymore.

He bites down on his lips, and after a moment of lingering, restless silence he replies quietly. “I—Yeah. I was.”

“Tell me what happened. Please.”

Rex sits down on your bed and hides his face in his palms, sighing deeply, his shoulders tense from the weight of whatever happened to him that night. There’s the silence again, not deafening, just heavy. You press your lips together and sit beside him, not too far that he might think you’re already rejecting him, but not too close that it might seem you two are fine.

“We had it, Ban. It was good. And then, someone fucked it up. That fuckin’ creep.” He turns his head to you, his palms still somewhat of a curtain covering his face. “I… I had to do something. I couldn’t just let him roam free. Not after what he did to you.”

You take his words in, one by one, each deepening the ache growing in your sternum. But you stay quiet, letting him tell his side of the story.

“After Mark took you to the GDA, I went back. I found him. And all I wanted was to take him to the police. He should rot in prison for what he did to you, and probably did to other women before that.”

“But that’s not what happened, was it?”

“Not exactly. He fled, and he said things about you…” Rex shakes his head, utterly devastated. Your stomach tightens when you see how incredibly hard it is for him to open up. 

“It set me off,” he continues, “I lost control. Completely. I just couldn’t stop. I even charged a bottle, but backed down last second before it could actually explode and hurt innocent people.”

“Rex…”

“But nobody knew what that fucker did. So a bouncer caught me, and knocked me out.”

“Is this why you couldn’t come? Were you unconscious for a long time?”

Silence, again. You don’t like it, and fight against the urge to shout, shove him, to leave; even though your body is bubbling with every emotion imaginable — you push it down, waiting for him to finish.

“Yes and no. I woke up… in jail.”

You blink, slowly, mouth gaping before you can stop it. “What.”

“I know,” he stands abruptly up, starting to immediately pace around your room. “I fucking know. I had to wait one day to be bailed out, and then when Mark came—”

“Mark? As in, Invincible?”

“Yeah.”

“Mark Grayson bailed you out? That doesn’t make sense. Why would Cecil send him?”

“He said he wanted to come. He scolded me like I was a goddamn child. Mister virtue signaler.”

“Okay, but it must have been less than a day when he got you out. What happened after?”

“I had to clear my head off. I just walked, and walked. And when I got to the jet, I… I couldn’t make myself come. To you.”

“... why?”

“I didn’t want to make it about myself, like I always fucking do. You were hurt, vulnerable—”

“I’m not some fragile object, Rex. I can take a lot more than you think. And you should know that—we have fought side by side for months now.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it after a moment, and just stares at you, still pacing around your room, his boots thudding against the wooden floor.

“So let me get this straight.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, your eyes closed, trying to calm your unruly heart and uneven breaths. “And stop pacing.”

Rex listens and slows down, before deciding to sit down on your chair in front of you.

“You call Mark to get me to the GDA instead of informing Cecil, because you were scared daddy would ground you.” 

He wants to interject, but you place a finger on his lips, frowning madly, your nerves hanging on by a thread. “Quiet now, boy.”

Rex rolls his eyes and you try your best not to make anything of it, so you just continue before your timer runs off and you explode.

“Then, you beat up the guy who drugged me and end up in jail for that. Which means the dude wasn’t brought to justice. So your whole pride contest led up to you abandoning me in a time I needed you the most.”

“What did you have me do? Just let him go?”

“No, Rex. Your first instinct was good. But it’s you who got caught. And then you decide it’s better… not to see me?”

“I didn’t want you to see me all bloodied and smelling like ass.”

“I wouldn’t care about that! I needed you, and you know that. And yet, you let your ego win. As usual.”

“That’s just not true and you know it.”

“If it isn’t true, then why haven’t you even apologized?”

“I’m sorry, okay? It’s not like I left you there on purpose.”

“Felt like it.”

Rex groans, sliding a hand down his face. He looks to the side, chewing the inside of his cheek, thinking. The room feels too quiet, the silence choking you, your breath catching in your throat. Moments pass, and nothing comes from him or you, both of you defeated yet still fighting.

When he turns his head back to you, your shoulders tense just like before a battle, preparing your body for a blow. But it doesn’t come; not in a way you expect, at least.

“So what now?” he starts, voice quiet, low. “About… us.”

“Us?” You laugh, sound bitter and raw. “There’s no us, Rex. Not anymore.”

“But—it’s not my fault what happened!” He gestures frantically with his hands. 

“And neither is mine. But you made a choice, and now there are consequences. You know what you did was wrong—don’t deny it, I can see it in your eyes.”

His reaction is as you expected—Rex scoffs, leaning on the chair with his arms crossed on his chest. He doesn’t look at you anymore.

“Maybe you thought I wouldn’t notice if you waited long enough. You felt guilty, ashamed, and wanted to hide from the truth; from me. Even though, as you may recall, I told you explicitly I wanted to see all of you—the good and the bad. But you robbed me of that, once again.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” He raises his brows, creases forming on his forehead. “Maybe you’re right.” He looks completely beat down, and it’s not about his cut lip and a black eye.

“I know I am. I’m always right.”

Rex chuckles, completely humorless, steering his eyes back at you.

“You like to believe you are. But you’re not. You take everything way too seriously.”

“Because these are serious matters, Rex. Choosing what’s good and trying to stay away from the wrong, even though I might fuck up sometimes. But I can always strive to be better.”

“You’re the one to talk. So, now let me get this straight—you can fail, try again, chase the right path—but it doesn't apply to me? You’re so full of shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” He stands up and starts counting out on his fingers, “You’re sooo stuck up, you cannot take a joke, you treat everything like it’s life or death, even when it’s not… Should I go on?” 

“Fuck you. Just… fuck off, Rex. What was that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what I said. You think your moral compass is the best one, that it’s perfect, and that you’re infallible.”

“Wow, such a big word, didn’t expect it from you.”

To your surprise, he ignores your remark and continues, “But, just like me, or anyone else, you make fucking mistakes. And sometimes you don’t grow from them.”

“I guess you’re right. I did make a mistake, letting you back in. And I didn’t learn—instead I naively trusted that it’d be different now. But you’re still the same fucking asshole.”

“Oh, of course. So now I’m the asshole? That’s what I get for saving you, getting you to the best fucking medical center this country has to offer? Are you really this fucking mad that I didn’t come?”

“I’m mad you abandoned me, Rex. You chose your male fucking pride of fighting for your trophy girlfriend, treating me like a fucking object.”

“And you’d be sooo happy if I’d come to you all beat up, smelly, and looking like trash.”

“Maybe I would, Rex. I think I’d just be glad to have you by my side when I realized that my p—” you bite your tongue a second too late, and he clocks that instantly.

Rex is staring at you impatiently, waiting for you to continue. You obviously don’t want to tell him about your issues with your sound control abilities, so you inspect your room in hopes of finding something you can busy yourself with, giving him a clue to leave.

When you notice a pile of neatly folded clothes, you get up and start putting them away in the drawers. Not a second passes when you hear his quick footsteps behind you. Rex clothes the drawer with a slam and gets down to your level, kneeling in front of you, closer to your face than you’d like right now.

“When you realized what, exactly?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter anymore,” you echo his earlier dodge. But you know he won’t back down now.

Rex puts his warm palm on top of your hand, and looks into your eyes with the utmost care. It makes your breath stuck, more so that he still has and will have that effect on you, despite your best efforts to be unbothered.

“It matters to me.”

You turn your head away, hoping he didn’t catch the way your eyes got glassier, threatening a waterfall of tears spilling from them.

“You don’t get to say that now,” you whisper, voice small.

When he gently grazes your knuckles, you let him. Maybe you shouldn’t, but you want it. You need it, like nothing else in your life. And you hate that, how your mood is directly connected to him, how much you crave to be inseparable from him. How one tear after another starts spilling down your cheeks to your trembling chin, throat thick and on the verge of sobbing.

“Hey,” he mutters, turning your head gently to him, “look at me.”

The room feels smaller, like the walls are moving in closer, ready to smash you and him together. And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. It’d solve a lot of problems. You don’t want to look at him, but you do anyway, knowing full well he won’t let go of this.

“I’m sorry. I know I fucked up. But I care about you.” He wipes your undereye with the pad of his thumb, his calloused skin rough on your cheek.

“So please, tell me what you’ve realized. And not for the sake of whatever’s between us, but because we’re a team.”

“I—” you choke on a sob, fighting the urge to break down and hide in his broad arms. 

Just as if he was reading your mind, he takes you in a hug, petting your hair gently, squeezing you with the perfect, most comforting pressure. This is all you needed to let the dam crack open, and the tears flow endlessly from your eyes.

“I fucking hate hospitals,” you mumble into his hoodie, sniffling with every word. “I despise them. I’ve spent too much of my life hooked to machines, locked away in sterile rooms with no one but lab coats as my company.” 

Rex breath stutters, like he’s trying to stop from sobbing himself. He only takes you closer, his heart beating steadily under your head buried in his chest. You hug him too, wrapping your arms around his torso, letting yourself almost lay down on him.

“I know what that’s like,” he whispers, almost inaudible, more to himself than to you. “When was that?” He adds after taking in a deep breath, as if to steady himself, like he’s trying to outrun his own memories.

“My abilities were studied when my parents sent me away to the GDA. And now… My powers, they’re… gone.”

His body goes rigid, frozen like a statue, breath catching in his throat. You gulp down and wait, giving him time to process the bomb you just dropped.

“How—are you sure?”

For a while, you don’t reply. Only listen to the calming, rhythmic beat of his heart, slowly soothing your ragged nerves. Just like you needed over the last two days in the med bay. 

“I can’t manipulate sound, can’t create force with soundwaves… nothing.” You speak into his hoodie, nestling even more between the harsh lines of his abdomen. “It’s all gone. But it’s not like before they manifested. I have this feeling of emptiness, that something’s missing. Like I’m not fully me anymore.”

For the first time this day, the silence doesn’t feel heavy, wrong or cruel. It feels like space, a much needed one after you had a little more time to actually process the loss of your powers yourself. Lacking what made you you, not understanding how on Earth did some rape drug cause that—it doesn’t even make any sense. 

In the quiet, tight embrace of Rex’s arms you wonder whether Cecil already knows. Because he always knows everything. Maybe they could tell from running some tests on you while you were unconscious. They definitely had to check up on you. So if he knew, why didn’t he say anything? Why did he only say that you’re benched?

Does it mean he knows your powers will come back?

Rex clears his throat and moves away just enough to take a peek at your face buried in his hoodie.

“Hey,” he says your name, softly, “you’re still you, y’know? Still the same extremely smart, insanely hot and scary as shit woman.”

You sniff and let out a weak chuckle, tired smile stretching shyly on your face.

“And you’re still dumped,” you say, though with no malice behind your words.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I know.”

The dresser creaks when Rex leans on it, pulling you back into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of your head. His fingers are rubbing soothing patterns into your arm, leaving you all tingly and your heart fluttering. You close your eyes and settle in, letting this be the last, warm embrace between you two.

“I’m sure they’ll come back,” he assures calmly, but with a tinge of sadness.

“I hope you’re right,” you sigh, your tired body getting heavier and limper in his arms. 

You don't know when and how fast it happens, but you fall asleep on Rex, deep and strong like a baby. You only realize you did when a few quick knocks on your door wakes you up, feeling lost and confused.

“Who’s there?” You ask, voice thick with sleep.

“Group training in fifteen—thought you might wanna come and watch, since you’re back,” replies the low male voice, probably Zandale.

“Uhh—okay,” you mutter, pushing softly off of Rex to sit up. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His footsteps echo around the hallway, each less audible as he furthers away from your door. You look at Rex, who also fell asleep; his mouth gaped lightly, snoring quietly. He’s so still, his features peaceful—something he so rarely is.

And now you’ve become one more reason for the worry crease between his brows to deepen.

Track 22

⬅️ main masterlist

⬅️ Rex Splode masterlist

if you enjoyed reading, click here to sign up for my taglist so you'll never miss an upload ❤︎

🔥 taglist:

@cheeyan @queen-of-gotham @arrivedercis @brokenbillionaires-club @n0isypeech @enchantedstarfish @spaghetti6622 @not-a-robot1 @poetryearns @halloween666lover @x-intothevoid-x @woahhajime @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @colonelfish @fanneartist @nishiology

divider by @dividers-are-us

[splodencible]

rex splode: the playlist

track 13: feeding my flame

summary: A surprising film choice leads to something unavoidable.

rex splode x female reader warnings and tags: +18, mdni, self-indulgent, canon divergence, angst, slow burn (again), post smut tension, emotional chaos, oh no the feelings are here, movie night tension word count: 2747

a/n: look at me, a writing factory. i just love y'all too much and i can't wait to share after a break. i also can't wait to post some chapters i've had ready for months at this point!

Track 12

The playlist

“I’m in for a ride, aren’t I?” You chuckle, striding towards him.

“You sure are,” he announces proudly, showing you the laptop’s screen with the movie already loaded. You recognize the font and the blue tint immediately. All the stress that was causing your heart to work overtime suddenly fades, comfortable ease coming into its place instead.

You try to hold in a laugh as you look at him with mock-pity. “Twilight? Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen like—hundreds of tiktoks at this point. The memes—the whoa-hoa-hoa-hoa-hoa season shit? I have to finally watch the thing.” He gestures wildly at the screen. 

“Wait—” your mouth drops, “—YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE TWILIGHT MOVIE?”

“Uhh, yeah? When exactly was I supposed to watch it? I’ve never even been to a cinema.”

“WHAT. How— Why—”

“Oh my god, stop it. I can tell you another time. Come here and sit your ass on the bed, Ban.”

Your chest tightens — he has called you many things, mostly generic petnames. But this one feels more… intimate.

“Ban? That’s what you’re calling me now?” You ask, still a little baffled by the fact he hasn’t seen one of the most iconic movies of the 2000s.

“What, you don’t like it? Babe is overrated anyway,” he says with a mischievous grin and pats the place next to him on the bed.

“It definitely is.” You sit down, facing him. “But you can’t say the same thing about Twilight.”

Rex rolls his eyes and shifts to face you as well. “Of course you are a vampire girl.”

“Of course you are an uncultured gym bro.”

You lean in, focusing on the freckles peppered across his nose. His eyes instantly drop to your mouth, breath getting a little faster. Blood rushes to your face, putting rosy dust over your cheeks. Before it tips into something that would most definitely lead to you two not watching the film tonight, you gather all your willpower and move away, resting your back on the wall.

He closes his eyes and sighs with disappointment, then grabs the popcorn bowl before scooting closer to you, your shoulders brushing against each other. You click the spacebar and the film starts.

“Want some?” he asks, shaking the bowl in front of you.

“Shut up and focus on the film, Rex.”

“Harsh. Just wanted to share—” He quiets the moment he sees your gaze and leans back on the wall, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

When Bella’s dialogue line ‘but dying in the place of someone I love, seems like a good way to go’ hits the screen, he quickly glances at you. You bite the inside of your cheek and try to ignore the growing heat in your face. You could swear he scoots up even closer to you, making it impossible to ignore his arm resting against yours.

The tender moment breaks when he mumbles with his mouth half-full, chewing loudly. “Well I wouldn’t miss Phoenix if I was her.”

“Could you—”

“You’ve seen it probably a hundred times. Let me enjoy my first watch the way I like.”

You don’t want to admit that he’s right, so you just groan quietly and don’t say anything.

A triumphant grin stretches across his face. “I knew it. You really are a vampire girlie, huh?”

“Should I leave? Seems like I’m stopping you from having fun,” you finally snap back, tone sharper than you meant it to be. He pauses the film and puts the popcorn bowl away.

“What’s wrong, Ban? I thought we were cool now.” His brows are tightly knit together, eyes wide open, a hint of worry glistening in them.

“Nothing, it’s just—we should—” you stop and look away, unable to stand his gaze.

“We should what? Talk to me.” He turns to fully face and rests his hand on yours. Your pulse spikes up and you carefully look back at him.

“It’s nothing, really. It can wait. Let’s watch the film, alright? We can—we can talk later, yeah?”

The silence that comes sits heavy with Rex gazing at you, his jaw working.

“Yeah, okay.” His voice is laced with a glint of sadness. He takes his hand away and you ache for it to return to yours immediately. He forces a smile back on his face. “But I’m gonna narrate the whole thing.”

You manage a weak lip curl and nod before resuming the film. “Pass the popcorn,” you add after the introduction of the hottest dad this world has ever seen, Charlie.

Rex barely keeps in a laugh, his whole body shaking. “What kind of reaction is that?!” He mocks Bella’s hand gesture when she gets the pick-up truck.

“Oh you just wait, honey. You haven’t even seen the most iconic part yet.”

He wipes a single tear away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “This is gonna be great.”

You chuckle and start eating the popcorn. His hand grazes against your and it lingers there for a moment too long before he stuffs his face full. You breathe out slowly, trying to slow down the hammering of your heart. It’s just a movie night, nothing else.

“Why does he sit down like this—” he points his hand at Edward’s fingers weirdly stretched on the cafeteria table. “Wait—” he gasps loudly. “—are those… EGGS?”

“Yeah, a dozen to be exact—” your voice catches when Rex curls his fingers around your thigh.

“The stare. Oh my God, THE STARE.” He’s practically yelling at this point. “Ban, I’m not going to survive this; we’re 10 minutes in and I’m seconds away from dropping dead.”

“And why’s that?” you mutter, his hand on your thigh burning hot.

He dramatically flops limp against you. “Cause of death: cringe overdose.”

“Christ, I think you’re even worse than the movie.”

“Yeah, and you like that.” He winks at you and sits up, bending one knee.

You both burst up laughing when Edward scrunches his face and covers his nose at Bella’s scent.

“I bet she smells like expired milk in a locker,” he cries out after a moment, still catching his breath. “Or, no—like if somebody microwaved a fish in the kitchen.” You’re catching your stomach and when you glance at him mid-laugh, your mouth goes slack; you notice Rex has dimples when he smiles, the faint lines scattered around his face making him even more handsome.

“Or maybe…” His laughter dies into a smirk as he leans in, closing the space until you feel the heat of him against your temple. His voice drops, eyes flicking over your face. “...like trouble. Which, by the way, is exactly what you smell like.”

He doesn’t move away—he lingers, waiting to see what you’ll do. You quickly look back at the screen, heat rushing to your cheeks, but your pulse is thrumming in your ears.

“You’re going to miss my favourite scene,” you manage to say when the diner comes into view. He mutters something under his nose but thankfully doesn’t push and turns his focus back to the film. You bite your lip and smile before nudging him with your knee.

“Now, look at the way she pours ketchup.”

“This is a film of all films.” He snorts and hides his face in his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. He settles his hand on your thigh again, a little higher this time. You let him, even though your mind is telling you ‘no, but your heart is telling you ‘yes’. The blue tinted indie-wannabe movie goes on and you both enjoy it in comfortable silence. For a while, at least.

“Well, I know the wettest place in the continental US was here on my bed—” You swat him before he can continue.

“REX, I SWEAR TO GOD—”

He glances at you with the smuggest smirk you’ve ever seen. “What? Tell me I'm lying,” he murmurs right into your ear, voice daring. Blood boils in your veins with his hot breath against your skin—anger, or something else you’d rather ignore raising the temperature of your body.

Before you can stop yourself you turn to face him, your lips almost brushing his. You glance down at them and freeze, your ears ringing. He cups your face, hand gentle on your cheek. The faint smell of his cologne creeps up your nose and it leaves you lightheaded.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

Your eyes meet his and what you see takes your breath away—his eyelids are halfway down, pupils blown wide. Your hand is on the back of his neck in seconds, but you don’t close the distance, you can’t.

You flutter your lashes and wait for him to make a move, but he waits for yours. For a moment the world stops spinning and it’s just the two of you in the entire universe. You lose yourself in the green of his eyes, dark and moody like the forests of Forks.

Screams coming from the laptop speakers snap you back to reality and you clear your throat before moving away. You swear he shakes his head and mutters later under his nose, but your eyes stay glued to the film. The atmosphere sits heavy between you, almost buzzing until you break with a chuff when James comes onto screen.

“You guys would make great friends,” you state.

“Just ‘cause we both walk around shirtless?”

“Yeah, that and being cheesy as hell.”

He rolls his eyes at you but you see the faintest curl of his lip corner. He places the popcorn bowl in your lap and grabs the gummies from the nightstand. The soft texture touches your lips when he tries to feed you a red-green worm. Your lips part and he places the snack for you to bite on.

You smile weakly and turn your attention to the movie, which proves difficult when he takes your hand into his, squeezing it gently. If you weren’t sitting, you’d probably get dizzy and fall. You curse at yourself in your head, feeling stupid for swooning over him like one pale teenage girl leaning against an old, beat up orange truck. 

“HOW—?! HOW DID HE STOP A WHOLE VAN WITH ONE HAND?!” 

You get startled as Rex raises his voice along with his arms. He looks at you with disbelief painted on his face, but it quickly turns into something more mischievous. “Ohh, you’re done for,” he laughs, noticing the blush spreading on your cheeks. A handful of popcorn mixed with gummy worms land in his mouth when he rests his back against the wall with a satisfied grin.

Your eyes wander to him every few minutes. The dim light in the room softens his sharp profile and jaw lines; you notice his side-shave is slightly overgrown, bun hanging low, barely stopped by the tie from coming undone.

He catches you staring between his stupid remarks about Bella’s search for answers, but doesn’t say anything. At least, not with words. His hand still lingers on yours, the touch sending hot flashes through every nerve ending in your body. Focusing on the movie seems impossible—good thing you already know it by heart.

A deep sigh comes from your right and you turn your head towards him. He’s looking at you already, with that playful smirk that makes your gut twist; the one you hate to love, and love to hate. His hand leaves yours and comes up to his head to let his hair down.

The dark coppery strands fall down below his chin, slightly curved at the ends. Your mouth gapes at the view; it’s a shame he doesn’t wear his hair loose more often, he’s so beautiful it’s unfair. You can’t take your eyes off him, soaking in how his red strands frame his face.

“Better view from down here,” he states as he lays his head down in your lap. You open your mouth to protest, but when he shifts a few times to make himself comfortable, you close it. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers thread through his hair spread out on your thighs like a halo. He hums low in his throat and his palm lands on your knee, the warmth of it spreading on your skin.

The movie goes on and you play with his strands absentmindedly, watching as Edward runs with Bella on his back at 1.5 speed. When he reaches the only spot where the sun shines through a thick cover of the trees and starts shining, Rex groans and shifts to look at you.

“I can’t believe—” he starts, but you shush him. When Edward says ‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella’ you quietly mouth it with him.

“You’re crazy. He looks like a disco ball,” Rex exclaims, sending you an unamused look before turning his head fully towards the screen. You pull his ear gently and he chuckles, then hums low when you start scratching his head.

“You’re like a cat,” you coo, looking down at him with a soft smile.

“More like a tiger,” he replies, and emphasizes his point with a comically terrible roar.

You snort, but then try not to gasp when he starts soothing his hand up and down your leg, your skin prickling at the tender touch.

“I think you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” he mumbles, not turning to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I am,” you reply quietly, a warm feeling blooming in your chest.

—

The forest scene drags on with Edward jumping between tree branches like a baboon. Rex groans so loud you almost choke laughing. “Did he just—he did. He called her his personal brand of heroin. This man has negative game. Minus rizz. And yet—” his tone changes, low and teasing now—“you’re still glued to it. You’re a sucker for melodrama.”

“And you’re not?” you challenge.

He smirks. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”

Your lips press into a thin line and you try to settle into this new, charged reality you found yourself in. Besides a few daring lines, he’s really trying to respect your boundaries this time, not pushing you into something you wouldn’t be able to stop.

Rex tosses the popcorn on the laptop when the infamous baseball scene rolls. Your whole body is shaking from laughter when he screams at the screen.

“The leg?! Thunderball?! And she’s just standing there like it’s a Thursday?!” His hand dramatically drapes over his eyes. “Ban, I—no. This is art.”

He peeks at you between his fingers and you gaze back. When you take his palm away from his face, he interlaces his fingers with yours. Something twists sharp in your gut and he’s beaming, knowing exactly what he does to you.

—

When the prom scene finally arrives, he’s shouting at the laptop, gesturing wildly with the hand that’s not lying on your knee. “They’re dancing in a gazebo! To a song that sounds like a moulded sandwich!”

“You’re impossible,” you chuckle.

“Yeah, impossible to resist.” He winks at you.

You gasp in mock-offence and swat his arm. He catches your wrist and kisses the inside of it, making your heart skip a beat. “You haven’t fled yet.”

“‘Cause we’re watching an iconic film,” you reply and stick out your tongue playfully.

“Keep telling that to yourself.”

After the final credits cease to crawl up the screen, the room suddenly feels too quiet after two hours of Rex’s running commentary. His head is still heavy in your lap, your fingers still tangled in his hair like you forgot to stop.

“Hey.” His voice is softer now, pulling your eyes down to meet his. “We were supposed to talk after the movie.”

You bite down on your lip and glance away, but he shifts, propping himself up and catches your chin between his thumb and index finger, making you look back at him. “Quiet now? Alright. I’ll start then,” he murmurs. Then, he leans in without hesitation and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is bold, almost claiming—charged with every stolen glance, every brush of skin. Your fingers find their way back into his hair, pulling him closer. The tension that’s been buzzing between you snaps as his lips possess yours.

He pulls back first, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing heavy. “I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t want you going, either.” He moves just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, hopeful—pleading almost when he whispers, “Stay. And not just tonight. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Track 14

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