#<{🏷️ben poindexter}>

[htchnr]

ミshaky hands 𑣲 B. POINDEXTER.

𖦹 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𖦹 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢!

「 ꜜsummary,, you come home to check on Dex, finding him halfway through a panic attack. so you help him get through it. author notes at the end. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, hurt/comfort ⋆ vague panic attack mention ⋆ lots of sweat ⋆ soft comfort. ꜜwc,, 0,6k. 」

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

" Dex? " you call out after entering his apartment. you two had set to meet about half an hour ago, and if Dex was anything— it was precise and punctual.

he was never late, always early enough to scout out where you would be meeting, but not too early for it to come off as odd. so when you hadn't seen him anywhere, it worried you.

you turn the corner to his living room, your heart sinking yet also feeling lighter upon finding him. he's sat on the floor, his hands are shaking as he hangs his head between his knees. his headphones sitting snug on his head and his tape player beside him.

you swallow, kneeling in front of him with enough distance to minimise the potential threat feeling, and close enough for him to notice you.

the moment your knees his the floor his head snaps up, wide and wild eyes meeting yours. your face softens, a small, reassuring smile making it's way to your lips. " hey, i missed you today. " you softly speak.

he swallows harshly, and you notice his shaky hands twitch with a telltale sign as his legs painfully lower to then cross.

you nod at the silent sign, slowly moving closer on your knees. you place your hands gently on his shoulders before carefully moving a knee over his thigh. you move the other over too, settling yourself in his trembling lap.

the moment you've let yourself settle with your full weight, his strong arms instantly wrap around your waist and his face is buried into the crook of your neck.

a sad smile takes over, breathing deeply as your fingers tangle themselves into his hair, holding him tightly against you. not that he really needs it, with the desperate force he's grasping onto you with.

" that's it, listen to my heartbeat. " you whisper, nails gently scratching against his scalp. and he does, ear pressed against your chest like a lifeline as he slowly calms down.

the two of you stay like that for a while, his breathing slowly slowing down and his heartbeat no longer threatening to burst out of his chest. his sweaty grip slowly loosens over time, though still holding you close against him.

" there we go, just keep listening. i'm right here. " you hum, never once stopping the movements of your fingers.

by the time he pulls his face from your chest the sun has started to set, letting you know it's getting late. you smooth a hand down to his cheek, your thumb rubbing gentle circles into the soft skin as you softly smile at him.

he swallows, a guilty look overtaking him. " i'm sorry i was late— "

" hey now, " you angle his face to yours, " none of that. " you shake your head. " whatever happened is not your fault. you know we can always reschedule. "

he nods against your hand, tiredly blinking up at you with wet lashes. you nod to the window behind you, " lets get you showered and then off to bed, shall we? " he nods again, his sweaty palms brushing off against his knees.

you move off his lap, standing to your height with a grunt. you hold out your hands— knowing that Dex is much stronger than you— a gesture that makes him feel cared for nonetheless.

he takes your hands, hoisting himself up. his aching joints groan in protest. you smile up at him, taking his hand in both of yours behind your back as you lead him to his bathroom.

" hey, Dex? " your own voice a tad hoarse from not speaking for a while.

he meets your eyes in an instant, waiting for your words. you help him pull off his sweat soaked shirt before continuing. your hand smoothes over his sweaty chest, settling directly above his heart. " how you're doing will always, be more important than a date. "

he nods, though you know he's thinking otherwise. you gently turn his face to yours with your other hand cupping his cheek, his eyes flitting back to yours. " it's more important than anything else to me. do you understand? " you say firmly.

he swallows, " yes. " he croaks out, his voice raw and scratchy.

you smile, nodding. you slowly lean in, moving your hand aside to press a kiss against the skin above his heart. you pull away after a few seconds, looking up at him. " now lets get you showered and ready for bed, okay? " gently guiding him towards his spacious shower.

「 authors note,, y'all Dex makes me feel so much 🥹 i love him so dearly and find myself in his struggles so much 😭. 」

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[htchnr]

꩜ missed kisses 𑣲 B. POINDEXTER.

𖦹 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𖦹 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢!

「 ꜜsummary,, thursdays are your lazy days along with grocery days. Dex's favorite. + he briefly muses what his other favorite times are. author notes at the end. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, stalking ⋆ observing ⋆ canon typical Dex behaviour ⋆ in my hc Dex still occasionally draws ⋆ artist!reader ⋆ broken glass ⋆ briefly mentioned accidental cut. ꜜwc,, 1,9k. 」

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

one of Dex's favorite moments are probably mornings; watching the way your feet stick out from under the duvet in a poor attempt to cool down and wake up. watching you lean over to your bedside table-- the way your back slightly arches and the fat of your hips accentuates. peaceful, serene.

his second contender is probably when your full-body care days; when you thoroughly wash your hair, shave your legs and anywhere else where the hair is overstimulating you. he knows you don't shave for other people, but because the prickle of hair is so incredibly annoying to you.

though, that isn't a second contender because he gets to see your bare skin, no. it's because of how relaxed and focused you look. focused on not nicking your skin with the razor, focused on getting every last hair.

though, seeing you fully bare with water cascading down your angelic skin, isn't something he'll ever complain about.

yesterday his brows were mostly pinched in worry and deep care. while following your full routine you had knocked over a jar of some face cream, and yesterday of all days it had finally cracked and shattered.

he watched with knit brows how you tried so hard to step barefoot around all the glass, though failed as you stepped on a small piece. the immediate slow drip of blood was visible even from where he sat, peering out his living room window.

he could tell it hurt, as your face twitched slightly with each hesitant step on that foot. he smoothed a hand down the lower half of his face while he sighed, if he was there you wouldn't have had to move a muscle as he cleaned it all up around you.

he told Ray about it during lunch hour, chuckled with a shake of his head. " yeah, she'll be off her feet all day till it heals a little more. poor thing. though, i don't mind helping around extra. " he smiled as took another bite of his sandwich.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

it's his day off today, as he sits on his couch. his fingers twitch around the pencil as he watches you lounge on the couch. thursdays were lazy days for you.

the pencil scratches against the paper of his sketchbook, tracing the outlines of your curves. you shift, one knee bent as the other drops against the couch. the pretty blue silk pyjama pants draping so heavenly over the curve of your hips at the motion.

he continues to leisurely sketch as he watches you scroll through your phone, the calm rise and fall of your chest.

you sigh dramatically-- a telltale sign of becoming a little bored-- before turning around and laying on your stomach. Dex takes a deep breath, eyes tracing the curve of your back as he starts a new sketch on the page.

his watch quietly beeps, a signal that an hour has passed already. as if on que, you look up at your clock, dragging a hand down your face as you read the time. breakfast time.

he sets his sketchbook aside with a sigh, instead reaching for his mug of cooling coffee as he watches you disappear from your living room and moments later appear in your kitchen.

he sips his coffee with a pleased sigh as you make breakfast-- on thursdays it's always bagels with cream cheese, it's barely any effort-- while swaying a little to whatever song your were playing through your speaker.

he swallows the remainder of his coffee when you finish spreading your bagels, setting them on a plate before heading back to the living room.

you flick the tv on, like clockwork you search for your show and turn on the next episode. you settle into the plush cushions, grabbing your plate from the coffee table and setting it on your lap.

he's quick to turn on his tv, the show already sitting prepared once it's on. he presses play when you do, sitting back to glance back and forth between the show. while it's not something he'd watch on his own, he's found over time that he actually quite likes it-- almost curious about what happens next.

you pause the show before it skips to the next episode, setting down the remote as you stand up with your empty plate. Dex stands up with his empty mug, both making your way to the kitchen.

he smiles as he washes the mug, imagining bumping your hip as you talk about your plans for the day-- binging your show while you catch up on some work in progress art pieces-- before setting the clean and wet dishes in the drying rack and drying off your hands.

you're what got him back into drawing full time again. the heavenly way you look while fully focused on a piece, made him crave that same focus again. he used to sketch occasionally, maybe after a particularly graphic case or mission, but not regularly. now, if he doesn't sketch or scribble at least one thing, he can't end his day.

he watches through the kitchen window how you move over to the room in the back, your art space, and grab your sketch book along with your case full of drawing supplies. you reappear in the kitchen briefly, before moving into the living room again.

he grabs the daily newspaper from the front door before he follows along to his living room and sits down. while you draw, he skims the paper. you both turn the show on again, before turning to do your own things.

it's peaceful like this. so peaceful, he can almost hear the sound of your syrupy giggles as a character in the show does something funny, or the dramatic disappointed groans when they do something stupid. all while keeping your eyes glued to your sketchbook as you work.

after the third episode ends you pause it and get up, stretching your limbs and back. he does the same, setting his paper down on the stack of read ones. you roll your shoulders, standing in front of the open fridge as you decide what to eat for lunch.

he smiles as he knows you'll just sigh and grab leftovers-- the thought of having to put together a proper meal exhausting you. he watches you reheat tuesday's spaghetti, your hip leaning against the counter as you tap away against the surface as you wait. he opts for cooking up some eggs and toast. he keeps it simple and short on thursdays.

after he scoops the eggs from the pan he pauses to watch you open the microwave, knowing the next step. " shit! " he can imagine you hissing, lightly burning your finger tips as you pull the hot bowl out and almost drop it onto the counter. he smiles to himself as he finishes plating his food, though he'd urge you to prevent the pain, he'd kiss your stinging finger tips each time it happened anyway.

lunch passes peacefully and as routine, getting through another three episodes of your show before turning it off. his watch beeps, it's four o'clock. the time you get ready to get groceries.

he's always found it a little odd you get them on thursdays-- not on mondays, the start of the week-- not on the weekends, the end of the week. no, you do them on thursdays.

he'll silently agree with you though, there always seem to be much less people doing their full weekly shopping then. quicker lines, slightly less busy than the next day.

he watches you appear in your bedroom, opening your closet as you debat what to wear. thursdays are for comfortable, easing outfits. loose jeans or sweats, a soft tshirt or sweater on top.

he sucks in a small breath as he watches you pull on his favorite tshirt, pulling on a pair of your 'thursday jeans'-- comfortable, a little baggy and soft looking.

you always scramble around for your necessities-- keys, wallet, headphones-- before going out. he chuckles, when you get to know him he'll help you with that. giving you ways to never leave the house missing one or more.

he shrugs on his jacket and pulls a baseball cap snug over his head, grabbing his keys and a bag before heading out the door.

thursdays are his grocery days too now.

「 authors note,, this will be a shortish series with little moments like these, cause idk. i'm messed up and i like this a little too much 😀. that being said, of anyone has any little ideas for future parts, let me know! 」

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[htchnr]

꩜ rot beside you 𑣲 B. POINDEXTER.

𖦹 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. 𖦹 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢!

「 ꜜsummary,, Dex finds you broken, so he lays down to rot with you. because if you won't get up, he'll die beside you. author notes at the end. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, major tw for this ⋆ blood ⋆ broken plates ⋆ cuts and scrapes ⋆ Dex's fucked up way of trying to help ⋆ Dex's thoughts ⋆ depression ⋆ lowkey suicidal ideation(?). ꜜwc,, 0,6k. 」

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

it's late at night as Dex drives to your apartment.

you weren't responding to any messages, any calls. he had called your neighbor, Anna, to knock and see if you were home-- but he already knew the answer.

by the time he unlocks the door and pushes through, his hands are shaking a little despite the routine. he closes the door, locking every lock he himself put on the door for your safety.

he calls out your name, then quietly like a obsessive prayer as he searches your apartment. his breath hitches as he steps on something that crunches-- like glass or ceramic crunches beneath your shoes-- and his eyes finally find you.

you're laying in the middle of a panic inducing scene; broken plates and bowls scattered around the kitchen floor, your figure curled up in the center.

he kneels down without a second thought, fingers pressing against your throat as his eyes scan for any life threatening injuries. your pulse is fine, and besides some small cuts on your shins and hands you seem to be alright.

he lets out a breath, a switch flips. he swallows, then scoffs. his slight panic gone as soon as it had originally washed over him.

he pushes against your shoulder. " get up. " he almost sounds like this is merely an inconvenience to him. he knows he shouldn't, but he can't help the frustration bubbling up.

" get. up. " he pushes you over, watching as you limply flop onto your other side instead. he can hear the crunch of ceramic as your body rolls against it.

he stays like that, frustration and annoyance slowly bubbling away as he kneels beside you. he's aware of the ceramic digging into his knees, but he doesn't care.

he huffs as he shifts to lay down beside you, not flinching as the pieces of broken plates dig into his skin, inflicting small cuts. he lays down, curling up the same as you. his forehead inches from yours. he can feel a piece digging into his cheek, hear the faint drip, drip, drip of his blood.

his brows furrow deep as his intense eyes drag across your face. " you're going to get through this. " his voice is raspy, but firm and serious.

if you hear him, you don't show a single sign. " you need to get through this. " he says again, his tone is flat and dead serious.

" if you don't, i'll hurt myself. "

your hazy eyes flick ever so slightly up to meet his, and you know he means it. because if you can't pick yourself up, he doesn't want to pick himself up either. he'll keep laying here beside you, bleeding, until you both rot into the floor.

you stay like that for hours, the morning sun starting to squirm it's way through the half closed curtains. his eyes unwavering, fixed on yours.

he watches the life slowly return to them, your occasional blinks becoming slightly more frequent. " your cheek. " you croak, your voice hoarse from screaming hours ago.

his brow ticks up, his is face unreadable. " i meant what i said. "

" i know. "

" good. "

the interaction slowly melts away your immobile limbs. your fingers twitch in front of your face, Dex catches it immediately. his bloody index finger wraps around yours, his intense eyes not moving.

he catches the faint twitch of your lip, a smile you want to show, but are too tired for. you've had days like these before, hence his callousness towards them. he knows you'll get up, at some point.

sometimes it takes you hours, sometimes it takes you a full day. but eventually you do get up. you'll both get up, you'll shakily lead him to your bathroom where you'll patch each other up. rinse, and repeat a few weeks or months later.

Dex doesn't mind the scars littering your skin, they mean you're alive and getting through it. even if it's not truly getting any better at all.

「 authors note,, idk what this is tbh, but it felt fitting for him. i know this kinda wildly deviates from anything i'd normally write, but idk it was kinda really cathartic to write. 」

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[htchnr]

𑣲 WELCOME ‎٠࣪ ⋆⭑꩜ .ᐟ

𑣲 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .. 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬. 𖦹 °✩

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐓 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞. | 𝐌𝐲 𝐀𝐎𝟑. | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬. | 𝐁𝐮𝐲 𝐌𝐞 𝐀 𝐊𝐨-𝐅𝐢! | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐮𝐦. | 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞.

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬. | 𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫. | 𝐊𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝. (series) | 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝. | 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𑣲 every character i've written for is tagged with a ⭐️ or a 🏷️ in the tags so you can find them easily until i make more masterlists!

𑣲 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐒 .. 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 .. april 26th. 𖦹 °✩

[★] BEN POINDEXTER | rot beside you.

[꩜★] BEN POINDEXTER | missed kisses.

[⓲ᵕ̈]BEN POINDEXTER | pinky promise kisses.

[★ᵕ̈] BEN POINDEXTER | shaky hands.

「 ⓲ nsfw. ★ sfw. ᰔ request. ᵕ̈ comfort. ꩜ series. 」

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!