#poindexter drabble

[talentpiper11]

Sweet little NurseyDex Drabble:

Jack and Bitty get married, and because he’s adorable (and for the excuse to play “Single Ladies”) Bitty plans to throw the bouquet.

Cut to a few months before the wedding and both Dex and Nursey have shown up, independently, to ask him if he’d be willing to hand off the bouquet to the other person to set up a proposal. He squeals, agrees, and plans.

On the day, he gets up, gets the music playing, and pretends like he’s going to throw the bouquet over his shoulder. Suddenly, Jack walks up next to him, with a second, similar bouquet. Now what are these boys doing?

They turn in unison toward the crowd, and both toss their bouquets to the other pair— Nursey and Dex each catch one, look at Bitty and Jack, look at each other.

“No, really? But I—“

“Me too, obviously.”

They each hold the flowers in one hand while fishing boxes out of their pockets with the other, then trade.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe…”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been planning this for months.”

“Me too.”

Then, in unison, looking at the rings and then at each other, “It’s perfect.”

[home-of-renn]

Writing prompt:

Sidney Poindexter has always watched from the sidelines as technology advanced over the decades and has always been curious about the little rectangular devices that teens today spend most of their time staring at. After befriending Phantom he finally picks up the courage to ask Danny what in the heck a cellphone is.

[the-universal-sun]

could you write something about stan being claustrophobic? i saw a couple works on that and wanted to see your take on it and/or regressed stan ver

I’m sorry if this wasn’t quite what you were thinking of! I don’t really have personal experience with claustrophobia, so this was a bit hard for me to write. This also started out as some head canons and turned into a Drabble? I don’t feel exactly proud of this work, but I know this was asked a while ago and I’ve been pondering it for days. You know what? Don’t even read this I’m sorry. Again, I’m always open for constructive criticisms and helpful advice on my writing!

-For Stan, rather Lee, there’s a big difference between the nice and comfy small spaces and the chest hurting and scary tight spaces

-Being wrapped up in his blanket? He loves it. When he’s feeling sick, or anxious, or overwhelmed, or really any negative emotion, he loves to be smushed underneath his weighted blanket, he loves feeling the pressure surrounding him, calming his mind and body. When Lee’s feeling extra bad, Ford will lay on top of the weighted blanket on him, giving him both that extra pressure he needs and the comforting presence of his brother surrounding him, chasing all the bad and icky feelings away

-But those tight spaces? Those all encompassing spaces with no windows? The dark cramped places? He can’t do those. It reminds Lee too much of those…darker times that Lee doesn’t want to think of thank you very much

-Being on the ship was an adjustment for him at first. After 30 years of having his open and bright spaces in the Shack and in Gravity Falls, the small boat and smaller rooms gave him the tight feelings in his chest that he hates having. Luckily, Ford made sure that every single room has a window and a door, a link to the outside for him to look at, to know that he’s not stuck

-If Lee finds himself stuck in one of those spaces, like if the door to his toy closet accidentally closes on him while he’s in there, he panics. He cannot think. He cannot move. He cannot do anything. He starts banging on the door, yelling for his Sixer, he’s sobbing, and he cannot breathe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ford opens the door as soon as he hears the banging, catching Lee in his arms as he collapses, hardly able to breathe through his panting. It becomes obvious to Ford very quickly that having Lee match his breathing wasn’t happening, not here on the floor at least, so Ford picks him up (he will worry about his back and knees later) and hauls him to their room.

Thankfully, Lee’s weighted blanket was left out on the foot of the bed, so he grabs the blanket as he sets Lee down, swiftly pulling it over him, careful to leave his head exposed so he can see the light spilling out from the windows. He lays down on Lee, rubbing his hand against Lee’s chest and breathing deliberately. He sees Poindexter shoved halfway under a pillow and pulls him out, stuffing the stuffed animal underneath the blanket, next to Lee’s face, hoping the familiar toy will help calm him down

It takes some minutes and a lot of head stroking before Ford can feel his brothers breathing start to calm. He sees his eyes regain some clarity, still in his smaller headspace, but not as panicked and scared. He feels his own heart rate slow down; Lee’s attacks always makes him very anxious as well.

When Lee’s awareness comes back to him, he finds himself in bed, comfortably crushed underneath his blankie and his Sixer, Poindexter’s face nuzzled into the side of his own. His body feels heavy, but he manages to look over at his brother, rubbing his head against Fords, humming softly. He usually finds it hard to speak when feeling small, but now he can’t speak at all. But he knows Sixer wouldn’t be mad that he can’t speak, words aren’t always needed with them. He feels his brother wrap an arm over him and relaxes into the extra pressure. His Sixer always knows how to make him feel okay again.

Ford reaches over to the night stand with his free arm and grabs the half full sippy cup from last night. Lee needs water, day old will do, and he doesn’t want to try to lift Lee right now for a cup, knowing how heavy he can be after an attack. Plus his brother looks so soft and comfortable, he’d hate disturbing him. He brings the sippy cup to Lee’s mouth, watching him drink so he doesn’t accidentally choke on water.

Lee drinks the water greedily, his throat was dry and hurting. It wasn’t a lot of water, but he didn’t mind, feeling too…he didn’t know how he was feeling beyond “blah”. He wasn’t sleepy, but he didn’t want to get up. He’s fine right here, with Poindexter and Sixer and the light from his window. His bedroom isn’t dark and small and scary, and plus he has his brother here. Lee knows Ford will protect him from anything scary. Even his own thoughts. He snuggles deeper into the bed and Ford, sighing softly as he feels the tightness still in his has calmed down, his mind getting fuzzier, but in a nice way, as he just breathes in and out. In. And out.

[shabbyshoebox]

Dusk - Sea Grunkles drabble

"Did I ever tell you about the time I experienced death?" Ford murmured.

Stan jerked up from his half-asleep fishing position. "I'm sorry, what?"

"That was a bit abrupt, yes, but I've been thinking about mortality and well, this particular experience came to mind." Ford pushed his glasses up his nose and adjusted himself in the chair. His gaze remained fixed, though unfocused, on the fishing rod in his hand.

Stan's grumbling was barely heard above his crackling knees as he stood to walk off, "Lemme fetch us some Pitts. Watch my pole, would ya?"

A couple moments later, he returned with two open cans, handing one to his brother.

"Thank you, Stanley." Ford grabbed the familiar peach-colored can. Almost instantly, droplets condensed from the humid ocean air onto the cold metal.

"Yea." Stan plopped back in his chair, took a sip, placed the can down and picked his rod back up. His gaze lay on his own rod. "So, uhm, you... Died?"

"Yes, but...Not exactly."

"Well damn, Poindexter, what was the heart attack for?" Stan tried to joke, finally glancing over.

"It... I, uhm..." Ford kept one hand on the pole and used the other to fiddle with the tab on the can. "Bill, in an effort to get the equation so he could escape Gravity Falls, subjected me to several physical and psychological...experiences."

"The little shit tortured you." Stan muttered and took another sip of his cola, the sweet taste stark against the salty air. "I remember."

"Yes. At one point, he simulated, psychologically, what death would be like."

"And?" Stan prompted, watching his brother's face flit through a dozen tense micro-expressions.

"And nothing. It was simply nothing, Stanley. There is no after. It's one thing to know that logically, it's another to..." He allowed his voice to trail off.

They sat in silence for a bit, the waves dark in the dusk, constellations growing brighter in the sky.

"Ford. I'm... Sorry." Stan leaned his pole on the boat.

"No, you didn't know."

A warm hand rested on Ford's shoulder. He finally looked up

"Thank you for telling me." Stan returned his gaze, then glanced away. "It's hard... Talking about shit like that. Just know that I am here for you."

Ford dropped his pole on the deck of the boat, stood, and hugged him. Stan hesitated for just a moment, then returned it.

Sploosh.

Ford whipped around to find his pole missing.

"I'm not buying you another damn pole, though," Stan harrumphed.

Ford smiled. "At least I actually got a bite."

I love you, too.

[stanfiction-withsoos]

conjoined stans au drabble...

nsft, dubcon, takes place during their recovery

-----------

stan shifted around as much as he could, being in control of only half of his mass. his right hand bunched the too-hot blanket covering his and fords lap, thankful that one of fords heavy physics books was covering their crotch.

fuck, he was hard.

he hadnt thought about how he'd jerk off since he and ford became... one... but now he was sure as hell thinking about it

did this count as incest?

ford noticed something was up, probably from stans shifting and twisting (it had to hurt like a bitch, stan thought, because it hurt for him and ford always kept him doped up on twice the pills he was.) and turned his head as much he could towards stan. stan kept his eyes glued on the book, not truely reading it.

" stanley? is something wrong? "

stanley huffed a laugh. yeah, fuck, something was wrong. this whole situation was wrong, but he didnt vocalize that. bitching about being sewn to your twin wouldnt help the fact that you were sewn to your twin.

" nothin', sixer. keep reading. "

stanley could just wait this out, surely. he'd deal with how to jack off when always with another person later.

stan, looking away at some miscellaneous medical equipment at the time, heard fords book close, and felt them both lean over to put it on the night stand.

" oh stanley... " ford cooed (fucking cooed, pretentious asshole-), resting a six fingered hand on stans side of their chest.

stan reluctantly looked down.

fuck that was a noticeable tent in the sheets.

" i-its not what it looks like poindexter- " stan stammered, bringing his hand to shield his crotch from fords view.

" you have nothing to be ashamed of, stanley. its not uncommon to have ah, unpredictable erections. "

stan looked away and nodded, mortified at the situation unfolding. fuck.

" ... you can take care of it, i dont mind- "

" No way, ford. thats- thats fuckin- " stan couldnt even finish his sentence. his hand balled into a fist.

he could feel fords gaze boring into him for a few excruciating moments.

" fine, if you wont, i will. "

before stan could think, the blanket was whipped off of their lower half, exposing their genitalia to the cold basement air.

stanley gasped at the sight. both of their dicks were in tact, as well as their testicles, a thin line of gauze running between the manhoods to cover up stitching. fords penis was half hard and plugged with a catheter, which he swiftly removed. one thing stan noted is that it seemed longer and slimmer than his.

stans own penis stood tall and dominant, a bead of pre sitting at its tip, nestled against his prince albert.

" what the fuck... "

stan let themself be pulled to the side again as ford wrestled something from the nightstand, jinxed at the scene of his- no, their crotch.

it was going to be like that forever.

this surgery was permanent.

he started hyperventilating, hand coming infront of his mouth in horror. oh god, this was real. this was real and he and ford would be like this forever and he wont have privacy ever again-

" stanley- focus. breathe. "

stan felt ford adjust his breathing to a more calm one, the feeling of lungs pressing up against his own being unpleasant, but made following the rhythm easier. fords fingers raked over stans half of their chest.

" thats it, good boy. "

stan choked at the praise, cock twitching and more pre spilling out, ford letting out an amused warble. this brought stan back to the situation at hand.

" now- " ford lifted up the thing he had gotten from the nightstand: a hefty bottle of lube, " could you please disperse some on my hand? "

stan gulped, noting that they were now both hard. gross.

" i dont want to have any part in this. " stan shutters.

" you dont have to, just give me some lubricant. " fords tone was stern, and stan would be damned if he didnt listen to it.

he grabbed the bottle and, with one hand, clicked the spout open. ford held out his hand, and stan obliged, pouring more than enough onto his palm.

ford muttered a praise under his breath. stan surpressed a whimper.

stan closed his eyes, half suspecting pain to come to him, before he felt a warm object come in contact with his penis before getting coated in lube.

stan moaned, eyes lolling open.

he watched as ford frotted their cocks together, his stupid slender fingers encompassing them both perfectly.

it felt like heaven.

" fuck... " stan brought a hand to his hair, pulling on it slightly as ford started stroking them.

" such a good boy, so good for me. such a good twin, fuck... " ford mumbled praises as he stroked them, squeezing on the way up and sliding on the way down.

stanley whined, this was all too much.

" f-ford im gonna- "

" do it, do it for me baby, fuck- " ford started stroking faster, and stan came, shooting ropes over their legs.

ford came soon after, stroking them through both of their orgasms. he slumped back, taking stan with him.

" that was amazing... " ford murmured, bringing his hand to stans side of their chest. stan bat it away.

" just... leave me alone. "

ford wanted to point out how useless saying something like that is, seeing as they are one entity, but something in stans tone told him not to push. ford sighed, shifting a bit in bed, before closing his eyes.

they could clean up in the morning...

[yanderederee]

MurderMystery

「探偵 場地！」

April29th, 2004

a/n: I felt inspired to rewrite this in a fun drabble idea♡ I was sad the opportunity was only given a five page spread, so I took matters into tutor!reader’s hands:)

shoutout to @tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang for kindly helping me locating the bonus chapter link, so I may refresh myself on all the specifics regarding the deduction quiz (spoiler; the only clue pointed out is the ‘murder tool’/pill bottle.)

before! › here! › after!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

*i am not a medical professional; all drug/medications/ailments are either made up or should not be looked into as truth!

To say the least , you were ecstatic when Ryusei recruited you for this role.

Based on how Chifuyu and he had explained it to you, Baji was actually excited to try solving a detective case of his own.

They had even already dragged the ever so willing Mitarai into this plan as well.

You and Mitarai were friends. The both of you were very good in academics, and keeping patience with the overzealous boys in front of you.

The two of you huddled together that same day, whispering to eachother different plans and hints to lay around as clues.

“So, who is the killer?” You asked the genuine poindexter.

You could tell he was flustered by your closeness. You didn’t mind though, nerds were cute.

Mitarai looked over your compiled notes in critical fashion. Collaborating back and forth on the matter, you truly felt like the case would be a hit.

After about a half hour of planning, giggling, and whispering to one another, you could feel a heavy presence looked over your back. Automatically breaking out into a smile, you threw your hands across the desk to hide all evidence.

“What’re you doing?” Baji asked, flat. It was a simple question, yet the dark glint of jealousy glared obvious.

You could tell Baji was addressing how close you had been getting to Mitarai, but you thought jealous boys were cuter; better to play coy.

“Creating an awesome case,” you admitted, pulling all the papers that littered your desk into one big pile, to which you organized out of his view. “I’m actually really excited to come up with this!”

Mitarai made an attempt in hopping into the conversation. “Y/n is quite good at this! She had written a sequence of events in only a matter of seconds. Though, I admit her knowledge in…. ‘forensics’ is a little unnerving.” he murmured.

You shrugged with pride, putting the papers into a manila folder, and into your bag.

“I’ll have the materials for the operation by tomorrow. I’m gonna go consult with the victim of this case~”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

You bend down, checking for any sign of life. Your blood ran cold. “Detective, he…. He’s dead.” You announce to the room. Baji bends down, patting your arm so to dismiss you from the corpse. “This bottle looks suspicious…” he murmured seriously.

Chifuyu grinned wide at you and Mitarashi, giving a subtle thumbs up. You chose to remain in character, following the scripted dialogue you wrote and handed out yesterday (that everyone barely mesmerized in time).

Normally, Baji would love to solve this kind of thing on his own. But you knew better than anyone, that without direction, Baji would soon become irritable and fume with frustration. He just needed to notice the clues, without telling him he found a clue. Make it seem like he figured it out himself.

“Here is Sora Ijuuin’s file,” you handed Baji a small packet of paper, containing a profile shot of Chuu, some blurbs of false medical history, and reposts given by neighbors on the events leading up to the victim’s demise. “Please look over it carefully..”

“Thank you assistant.” He acknowledged shortly. Looking over the file, it took him a few minutes, but eventually he stood in haste.

Ijuuin Sora, date of birth: 03/07/1980, blood type: B, marital status: married.

- Statement given by Neighbor [1]: “That voice of his [Sora Ijuuin] sure does carry! Just three days ago, I could hear him fighting with someone clear down the street!”

- Statement given by Neighbor [3]: “Well , there has been a suspicious looking fellow visiting that house for the past month. He visits perhaps once a week. White hair, and dark skin. Suspicious!”

“Seems Chu had a few visitors before he bit it.” Baji said suspiciously. “Satou Ryusei, what business did you have with the victim three days ago?”

Baji thought he looked so cool, keeping his glare focused on the taller boy in the room.

Excellent. First step, make Baji suspect and snuff out all clues from innocent yet suspicious figures in the room.

Ryusei played it cool, a poker face striping him of all laughing matters. “Sora and I were colleagues. We had been collaborating on a project for about a month now. I came by to discuss these matters three days ago.”

“Sound reason. You say you were simply discussing, but neighbor complains state they heard loud arguing. You two must have had a disagreement.”

Baji’s cool demeanor slowly began showing more confidence as he made his case.

“We’re both particularly passionate fellows,” Ryusei suppressed a giggle. He may have thought your script was a little over the top. “We disagreed often. But our altercations were never very loud. We always came to sound conclusions.”

“And was that conclusion murder?” Baji asked accusatively.

“I would never!”

Baji hummed. Blaming Ryusei seemed too easy. And if he learned anything from his detective shows, never go with your first guess. So, eyeing the file again he read;

- Statement given by Neighbor [3]: “…his [Sora Ijuuin] wife and I only spoke on occasion. She told me they had been dating since high school. They had gotten together thanks to a mutual friend. […] Arguments with his wife have been consistent over the years, but for the last 6 months, they have been non-stop! They become progressively louder as days pass.”

- Statement given by Acquaintance [1]: “Sora? Yeah, he and some four eyes were friends back in high school. Though, he always seemed to have a thing for his girlfriend at the time. Guess they’re still friends, saw them hanging out recently. I heard four eyes became a doctor. Good for him.”

- Statement given by Neighbor [2]: “I’ve heard rumors about resident of that house becoming recently ill! A friend of his, I presume, has been visiting often to oversee his health. I hope he’s well?”

Based on this statement repost, Baji soon began concluding that it was perhaps Chu’s “wife” may be the murderer. However, reading further, he realized this to be impossible.

- […] After a particularly heated argument, {assumedly being the disagreement of Three Days ago}, eye witness repost conclude Wife had gone to stay with her mother three days ago.

Chifuyu caught your waiting gaze, and understood the subtle nod in his direction. Playing into the role, Chifuyu settled closer to the crime scene, eying the pill bottle.

“Cause of death, overdose? But with what? … Medication? Was Mr Sora ill?”

“My colleague often complained about suffering from unexplained migraines and severe nose bleeds. I recall him mentioning these symptoms began about three months ago.”

“He met quite frequently with his at home physician to determine a diagnosis.”

“Were the physician and victim on good terms?”

“Yes. In fact, neighbor reposts state they originally thought him an old familiar friend of the victim, with how often and friendly their visits.”

“Ah! Ijuuin and I have been friends for some years now, even before he requested I oversee his declining health.” Mitarai spoke up confidently.

A shock to everyone in the room, everyone stood silent. Baji’s judgemental gaze looked over the self proclaimed physician up and down, thinking of anyway to blame him.

Dense as he was, he nodded. “A nobel friend always sticks by his friend’s side. My condolences, doctor.” Baji turned, thinking to other matters at hand.

No!! Everyone internally yelled.

Mitarashi was practically trying to be blamed, at this point!! But Baji wasn’t taking the bait.

No matter, you sighed silently, planning your second hint.

“Looks like the only evidence useful to us is this pill bottle.” Baji interjected.

You handed Baji a plastic glove, insisting he wear it before touching any evidence. After doing so, he observed the bottle.

It was medicine, plain and simple. Without even so much as a label on the bottle, it was impossible to identify further than that.

“Detective,” Chifuyu whispered to Baji, just as you described he should do in the script. “I recognize the look of this pill. Its purpose is to increase blood flow, mostly aimed for anemic patients. It doesn’t match the name of the medicine typed on the pill bottle.”

Unfortunately, Baji had no idea what the fuck ‘an anemia’ even was.

“Doctor, if you could please elaborate, what diagnosis came of your time spent together?” You asked Mitarashi. He nodded in response.

“Ijuuin described having severe nosebleeds, following his migraines. I concluded he suffered textbook side effects of overexertion.”

A medication meant to increase blood flow for a patient with frequent nose bleeds? Baji finally started putting the clues together.

“Were you the one to prescribe this medicine, doctor?” Baji asked Mitarai.

Aha!!

Mitarashi purposely showed signs of nervousness. “Y-yes! That medicine is one that regulates migraines. I-it even says it on the bottle!”

Baji smirked, dropping the bottle into a plastic, held open by Chifuyu. “We’ll see what the forensic’s team has to say about that.”

Mitarai became anxious at the mention, but chose to keep quiet. Baji hadn’t earned a confession out of him yet.

Baji really had to think now. He had evidence, but no motive. What motive would a physician have to kill his own patient? One he seemed fond of, even.

The room grew quiet, and frustration was eating up Baji’s neck. How could he get the guy to confess?

And unfortunately for Mitarashi, when Detective Baji began to feel frustrated, he had a hard time putting a cap on his emotions. In fact, he physically couldn’t.

So of course, he resorted to intimidation.

“Speakin’ of forensics, back there, I noticed there’s a pill that’s been crushed up. Almost like it was stepped on. Saaay, doc, how bout I see the underside of those shoes, huh?” Baji grinned ear to ear, eyes creasing in one-sided victory.

Mitarai gasped, red faced and shaking. It was hard to tell if it was because he was in character, or genuinely scared of Baji’s terrifying aura.

“P-please sir! Spare me!” He yelled, backing up against the door quickly, showing the underside of only one of his shoes. “There’s nothing! See! Nothing!”

Baji shook his head, and in one quick motion, bent Mitarai’s standing knee. Unable to balance himself in time, the four-eyes fell to the floor with a scream. “Well what’da ya know? What’s this blue powder here? Think we’re gonna need to send this over too, Detective Matsuno.” He chuckled.

Surely this was enough to earn his confession.

“F-fine! I swapped the medication! I’ve been giving him medicine to make him sicker and sicker f-for the last five months… but-but! … I had to!” Mitarai crocked, crocodile tears falling down his face.

Damn, Mitarai sure knew how to act!! Who would have guessed…

“Well, spit it out.” Baji hurried.

Mitarai took a few deep breaths, increasing the reveals dramatic timing. “He made Hanako cry… I’ve… loved Hanako ever since I met her, you see!” Mitarashi looked away bashfully.

“Who’s Hanako? From the Toilet?”

“That’s the name of the victims’s wife. It’s on file.”

“…oh…”

“You’ve been friends with Mr Sora since high school?” You asked the clarifying question, which finally clicked in Baji’s mind.

“Yes! She always had eyes for the obnoxious types though… so, I waited… And just as I suspected, he began to mistreat her, all over petty misunderstandings and other stupid, meaningless things! They were fighting so often, Hanako finally reached out to me to ask for advise….

“I told her to give it time. I just needed a little time… make him sick, until he died of natural causes! Than she’d finally be free! So you see, it was out of love! And it worked!” Mitarai laughed, still hysterically crying. “He’s gone now, Hanako. She can be happy now, right detective?”

Baji’s face was cold at Mitarashi’s performance.

“That’s why?” He asked. “All over a girl? Seriously?” He clicked his tongue.

You frowned at his disgust.

“What a lame reason. Whatever, we got what we came here for. Matsuno, cuff this freak.”

And just as quickly, Baji’s victory became evident with such a wide grin. “Haha! I’m a genius! Bet ya didn’t think I’d notice that stepped on pill over there did ya?” He said in your face.

You laughed in unison, and rose your hand up to give him a big high five. “I’ll admit, I was wondering how long it would take you to notice, but I had faith in you, Detective!~”

The lot of you all cheered for Baji, making his ego soar all the more. But just as you thought to stop, that adorable toothy grin of his made you swoon all over again.

While he and Chu were laughing together, Ryusei took notice of your adoring stare, and melancholy smile. “You like him, don’t you?” He asked so very quietly. As much as you could act embarrassed and deny him, you knew it would be in vain. Ryusei knew. Your smile became more flatlined.

“I do… it’s one-sided, I know… but I’m happy where I am, for now.”

Ryusei watched as you tore your gaze away, distracting yourself with cleaning up the rest of the murder scene. Out of earshot, Ryusei chuckled. “One sided, huh… Can’t say I’m so sure of that.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

Finally, after it was all said and done, the lot of you found yourselves shoved close into a booth at a local family diner. It was cheap and close by, but deserving enough for Detective Baji’s victory on his latest case.

“Still! That cheesy alibi was so over the top. Seriously, which one of you even came up with that crap?” Baji mulled over his drink, glaring at how closely sat you and Mitarai were sitting. You rolled your eyes. “Yeah yeah, just let it go already.”

“Mitarashi! Your acting was so good back there though, I almost thought you were really crying!” Chifuyu praised the four eyes beside him. “Thank you! I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off at first.”

Still dressed in the costumes stolenborrowed from the Drama Club, you all looked quite dashing and out of place in this family diner. But not a one of you seemed to care. Everyone was in high spirits.

Baji would occasionally bring up how ‘killing someone for a girl you like is so lame.’ And sure, he was right. It just made you all the more embarrassed that you were the one to come up with the dramatic idea. But that was the idea! Detective shows were dramas!

As everyone threw in their last praises and thoughts on the case, the natural urge to pee made itself known to you. Quickly excusing yourself, you shimmied yourself out from the booth. It hadn’t even been a few minutes before you were relieved and headed back for the table.

On your way to do so, some high school delinquent who clearly wasn’t paying attention to how much of the narrow walkway he was taking up, ended up smacking right dab into your shoulder. It wasn’t enough to make you fall backwards, but enough to lose your balance. What an asshole!

Yet, when you glared up for your rightfully owed apology, the high schooler kept walking. Baffled, you pursed your lips into a thin line. It probably wouldn’t do you any good to go after him. But that was way too rude!

Unbeknownst to you, the whole scene became a spectacle for your delinquent friend group. And they were Not having it. Most of all, Baji Keisuke. He practically hopped over the table to get out from the booth quicker— rather than waiting for whoever was on the outside to make way.

“Oi, asshole.” Baji seethed through his teeth. It was quiet, enough to not draw attention from everyone in the restaurant, at least. “Apologize, or we’re takin’ this outside.” He’d since grabbed the collar of the offending jerk.

The high schooler chuckled, not taking Baji all that seriously. “Yeah right, get lost pipsqueak.” He went to push Baji, who was a solid few inches shorter than him. Unfortunately, Baji took this personally.

Baji laughed at the audacity of this jerk, grabbing his arm hard, and twisting it behind his back. He wasn’t trying to cause a scene, but there he was, causing a scene.

You aught to stop him, but nothing you’d say would do you any good. “Stay here, this won’t take more than five minutes.” Baji had told you.

It didn’t take long for Baji to walk the punk outside of the family diner, around the front and into a less populated street.

Ryusei gave a shrug, and offered you a seat. “Leave him be, that’s just how he is.”

Chifuyu was tempted to follow his squad leader, but decided against it after seeing how anxious the whole situation was making you. “Maybe we should leave…” you mumbled. “No way, we just ordered while you were gone!” Ryusei patted your shoulder. Mitarashi was also a little unsettled, but tried not to show it.

“If anything, you should be glad Keisuke’s actually showing this much restraint. Normally. He’d have pummeled the poor guy in front of everyone and got us kicked out.” Ryusei sighed, as though that same scenario had just happened recently.

Just as Baji promised, he was back at the table in less than 5 minutes. “‘I miss anything?” He asked, a proud wide toothy smirk painting his features.

That proud look really suited him. Stop, why were you thinking about how cute he was at a time like this? Did you seriously find delinquency that attractive? Your heart felt like it’d beat out of your chest.

“Still think it’s one-sided?~” Ryusei whispered in your ear with a shit eating grin.

Your face went beat red.

“Hey, what’d I say about personal space asshole?” Baji cursed at his friend before pushing him hard.

“Sorry sorry~”

…♡

[amberlynnmurdock]

Give Me Your Pain

Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

Summary: The first time Dex sees you cry, he decides he never wants to bear witness to it ever again.

A/N: LOL so I was really sad before and actually started crying because #healing and #heartbreak and I wanted to channel that into a fic and what better way than to use Dex for it lol literally the most random drabble ever hope you like it

The first time Dex sees you cry, it catches him off guard, even for a skilled federal agent like himself. He’s in the kitchen, washing the mugs the two of you had just shared coffee out of, when he turns off the sink and questions if his mind is playing tricks on him. 

He places the white mugs on the drying rack and pauses in his movements like a sleuth to listen better. It’s hard to tell from where he’s standing, so he slowly inches toward his half-shut bedroom door. He stops in his tracks when he hears sniffling coming from you, accompanied by the most quiet sobs he’s ever heard in his life. 

Dex stands still for a moment, unsure of what to do. He’s never seen or heard you cry—he almost wondered if you were even capable of emitting such a heavy feeling, a feeling that came all too easy to him. He could hardly bear the weight of his sadness—he’s learning he can’t bear it when it’s coming from you. Not you, not someone like you who shouldn’t know this kind of pain, whatever may be causing it. 

He’s still standing there, frozen in his movements. Caught between wanting to burst in there and hold you, and standing right here wondering if you needed space like he did. If Dex didn’t know better, he would’ve done the latter.

Slowly, he pushes the door open. 

“Hey,” he cooed, slowly stepping inside. And when he sees you on the edge of his bed, face in your hands and shaking, a part of himself inside crumbles. No, he never wants to see you like this again. It’s something he’s not sure he can take. 

“Dex,” you softly cry, wiping your tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Dex questions, confused by your apology and not wanting to take it; he doesn’t need it. He finds his place next to you on his bed and wraps his arms around your fragile frame, bringing you into the crook of his neck. 

“What’s wrong?” Dex whispers in your hair, breathing in the fresh scent of your hair. 

“I’m just sad,” you manage to say through your tears, though it feels like a ball is in your throat. It feels like a cement block has replaced your heart. And you can’t stop shaking in his arms. 

“Okay,” Dex nods. He understands your answer and doesn’t pry anymore. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Just hold me,” you whisper, clutching at his shirt. Dex can do that. He can do that forever if you ask. 

“I have you,” Dex murmurs, words he wished he heard himself when he was down and out, which he spent most of his life feeling. I have you. “Lay down with me.” 

He feels you nod your head against his chest, a wet spot forming from your tears on his shirt. He holds you close as he gently lays back and brings you down with him. You cuddle into his chest and he wraps his arms around you holding you tight. It’s all you need, this right here. Laying with Dex in his bed, him holding you close, letting you cry for as long as you need. He closes his eyes and envisions himself soaking your pain so it would go straight to him. He can handle pain better when it’s not you bearing the weight. 

[gleeful-northwest-fam]

A... drabble? One shot? Thing based after a rp with @william-will-cipher

—Mod 🥀

"Pacifica-!"

The girl just ran up to the attic, slamming the door close

Preston looked at his step brother, who returned the silent resignation.

Damn kids. So stubborn.

He should leave. Give them some space. He understood that, logically, everything was logical, he was doing the most logical step getting rid of that three sided whining demon

But children weren't logical, and Pacifica specially wasn't. Children are emotional and messy and easy to use. To lose.

He sat down against the door, trying to come up with some new argument, though even if he could find it, it was most likely that neither child would actually listen. All he managed to was hide his face in his palms to try and sort out this- this tangle of horrid feelings in his chest

"C'mon, they'll get around"

"What if they don't?"

"If Gideon could... understand what happened with Carla, sure they can understand this"

Bud didn't get it. Or maybe he did? Maybe he was in the same fight against pain and guilt that had no right to be there, that was twisting their thoughts into something so very absurd.

"... how do you deal with this?"

He let out a sad chukle, sitting next to him "Not gonna lie, is... is hard"

He couldn't let it go. Her eyes willing up with tears. The shouting. The utter betrayal in her face as she screamed that she wished he had never come back. It vore into his chest with a fury no weapon or substance had pierced him in 13 years of exploring the multiverse.

"What if I messed up? Genuinely messed up?"

"Preston, the kid ain't heartless. She's upset, sure, but she loves ya"

"I'm not just talking about the kids"

"... what do you mean?"

This was absurd. Nonsense. And overall unbelievably idiotic. Yet the thought refused to leave his mind, eating him up from the inside as it drove him insane

"Sending him back.. with him"

"Fo' Pete's sake Preston, are you serious?!"

"You weren't there!" He suddenly stood up, beginning to pace around "You didn't hear how Stanford talked about him- or how jumpy he was- he looked- he looked terrified!"

"So what? Were you just gonna welcome him with open arms?"

"Of course not! It's just! It's just..." a frustrated groan scaped him, gesturing widely to try to make sense of it all "Maybe I should've found another way to make him go instead, or- or try to force Stanford into calling the deal off so he'd go back to the mindscape- something that wasn't this!"

"Preston"

"Of course I don't like Will! I hate him! I always will, and if I see him here ever again-"

"Poindexter"

"But I could've at least gotten some information! I- I assumed the deal happened after I disappeared, but what if it was before? How long has it been like that"

"Thee eyes" Preston suddenly grabbed hy the shoulders, forced to stare into Bud's reprimanding eyes "ya did the right thing. Ya protected your family. "

"But-"

"This damn demon is the reason all this happened. So you ain't gotta have no sympathy to him"

This was so... odd for Preston. He was the older brother, the smart brother, the one always with the plan and the right words. Yet ever since he came back, he has felt completely lost, relying on Bud for all these stupid mushy problems called feelings and grief and fatherhood. Before he could proceed what he was doing, he pulled his younger brother into a tight hug, which was almost immediately reciprocated

No more words were exchanged, and after a few far too long seconds, they pulled apart and walked downstairs

They never knew Pacifica had scaped out the window

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Butch first kiss where they're in detention and have like a Breakfast Club confession each where they reveal how their home lives are unsatisfying.

Thank you for the prompt <3

Detention (Butch Deloria First Kiss Drabble)

Notes:

warnings for Butch being a bully, mentions of alcoholism, Lone is kinda mean (even though Butch deserves it), underage drinking, Lone is a bit of a crybaby and a goody two shoes

This was supposed to be a drabble but it got away from me

Word Count: 3260

The vault doctor’s daughter was completely exhausted. As she trudged into her first class of the day, what she wanted more than anything was to tell Mr Brotch she wasn’t feeling well, turn right back around and go back to bed.

But she couldn’t do that. She wasn’t about to let her attendance slip this close to graduation. No, she would bite the bullet and push through, ignoring the heaviness of her eyelids.

Butch Deloria, her tormentor of many years, stuck his leg out in front of her. She almost tripped over it, but she was primed for this, because he always tried something.

“Fuck off, Butch,” she snarled under her breath, and he gave her a shit-eating grin.

“I didn’t do shit, Poindexter.”

She wanted to snap back at him, but she was already almost late. She’d slept through her alarm this morning, so had arrived at class only a minute before it was due to start.

There was only one seat left, and it was the one directly in front of Butch. She felt her stomach twist uncomfortably. From the front row, Amata shot her an apologetic look over her shoulder. Her usual seat next to Amata had been taken by Christine Kendall.

She couldn’t blame Christine. Nobody wanted to sit in front of Butch.

Resigned to her fate, she sat down at the desk and started getting her books out of her bag.

Mr Brotch had barely started writing on the blackboard when she felt a foot nudging the back of her chair. Steadfastly, she tried to ignore it, feeling the anger bubbling just below the surface.

A particularly hard kick had her jolting forward, so she turned to glare at him over her shoulder.

“Cut it out,” she whispered. He smirked at her, raising his hands in faux-innocence.

“Mr Deloria.” Mr Brotch’s voice redirected her attention back to the front of the class. “Keep your hands and feet to yourself unless you want another detention.”

She turned back around to face the front fully, trying to focus on her work. There were a few blissful minutes of peace before a folded scrap of paper landed on her desk.

She eyed it warily. She wanted more than anything to ignore it, but she could feel the heat of Butch’s stare on the back of her neck. Glancing up to check that Mr Brotch was still facing the blackboard, she unfolded it.

whats got your panties in a twist this morning?

Without looking back, she flipped him off over her shoulder, and then went back to her work. He was getting on her last nerve.

“Mr Deloria.” Mr Brotch sounded just as tired of Butch’s antics as she was. “Please pay attention.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Butch. She could hear the shit-eating grin in his voice, and braced herself. He was never so polite. “It’s hard to pay attention when I can’t see the board over Nosebleed’s massive head.”

A few scattered chuckles broke out across the classroom. The Tunnel Snakes, no doubt.

It was a stupid joke. She had had far worse said to her, usually by Butch. Normally, she would’ve brushed it off and ignored him.

She couldn’t for the life of her explain why she was on her feet, turning to face Butch fully. Mr Brotch called out her name, cautioning her, but she had already flipped Butch’s desk over, almost knocking him out of his chair in the process.

“What the f-” Butch was staring at her, eyes wide, but Mr Brotch got there before he could say anything else.

“Please go and stand outside,” he said to her, and she came back to herself, surveying the damage she’d caused. Butch’s belongings were scattered all over the floor. He was looking up at her, his expression not angry or smug, but confused. “Please?” said Mr Brotch. Her lower lip trembled. She was in trouble. She never got in trouble.

She sidestepped around Butch and headed for the door. Behind her, she heard Mr Brotch ordering Butch to swap seats with Amata so he could keep an eye on him.

As soon as the classroom door closed behind her, she let out a shaky breath, tears welling in her eyes. She really, really didn’t want Mr Brotch to see her crying. It was so stupid. She was being a crybaby. Butch was probably crowing to his friends about how he’d gotten to her.

The door opened and Mr Brotch stepped out. She sniffed, trying to hide the way her hands were trembling. He hit the button to close the door and then turned to face her.

“You wanna tell me what happened in there?” he asked softly. “It’s not like you to let Butch get to you.”

“I’m just… tired,” she said. Her voice came out shaky.

“You know I’m going to have to give you detention, right? I can’t play favourites.”

She nodded. “I know.” Her heart felt tight. She scrubbed at her face with her sleeve, thankful that Mr Brotch was pretending not to notice the tears rolling down her cheeks.

He let out a deep sigh. “I’ve moved Butch away from you, so he shouldn’t bother you anymore. Why don’t you go and take five minutes, wash your face and take some deep breaths, okay?”

“… Thanks, Mr Brotch.”

*

The rest of the school day went largely without incident. Amata gave her a sympathetic look when she came back in and resumed her seat, but now that Butch had been moved, there were less distractions.

Sure, she could feel that some of her classmates were looking at her. She had made a spectacle of herself, after all. But at this point, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

At lunch, she was first out the door, opting to go and find a secluded spot where even Amata couldn’t find her, so she could catch up on some studying.

When they reconvened in the classroom for the final period of the day, her best friend frowned at her, looking a little hurt. She tried to ignore the fact that she was in the process of disappointing or upsetting everyone around her. Today was a bad day and she just had to get through it.

The final period dragged, and when everyone else was allowed to go home, it was just her, Butch and Mr Brotch left in the classroom.

“I’d hoped we’d moved past this by now,” said Mr Brotch wearily. “You’re both sixteen. You’re not children anymore. I was hoping that the two of you would’ve figured out how to settle your differences like adults by now. I suppose that was too much to hope for.”

The girl sat there, her stomach churning. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Butch looking at her. She staunchly ignored him.

“This classroom needs cleaning, anyway. Supplies are in the cupboard. If you need me, I’ll be in my office. Neither of you are leaving here until this room is spotless. Desks, floors, chairs. The bookshelves need to be organised too.”

“That’s going to take forever,” she sputtered. The words were out before she could stop them. Mr Brotch looked taken aback. It wasn’t like her to talk back. Then again, it wasn’t like her to get detention in the first place.

“Well, you better get started then.”

Ignoring Butch’s groans, she got to her feet as soon as Mr Brotch was gone and went straight for the cleaning cupboard. Her hands were shaking a little. This was time she didn’t have to waste, and she couldn’t see Butch pulling his weight here either. She was going to have to take charge.

By the time she’d filled a bucket with hot, soapy water, Butch had just about got to his feet. She dumped the bucket in front of him, relishing the way he leapt back to stop the water from getting on his shoes.

“What’s your fucking problem?” he snarled.

She ignored him, tossing a cloth at him. “You can start on the desks. I’m going to organise the bookshelves, because I can actually read.”

“That’s not fair. You probably enjoy that shit.”

“The sooner we get started, the sooner we can get out of here,” she said, brushing past him. To her surprise, he didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he dunked the cloth in the bucket, rung it out, and got to work scrubbing the tables.

She was almost pleasantly surprised. Of course, being able to get on with it in silence was more than she should’ve hoped for. As she took the books down so that she could dust off the shelves, Butch clear his throat, and she had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“So what’s the big rush, anyway? It’s not like you have a social life,” he said. “I thought you’d be jazzed to spend all afternoon at school.”

She spun around to face him, her arms full of books. “Oh, that explains everything,” she snapped, dropping the books onto the desk in front of her. “That’s why you’re always getting detention. You don’t even want to go home, because then you’ll have to face your mom.”

Butch dropped his washcloth and stared her down. His lips were twisted down into a frown. He took a step towards her, and she found herself backing up instinctively.

Was he going to hit her? He hadn’t hit her since they were kids, and they’d been roughly the same size back then. Now he was taller and more muscular. If he hit her, it would hurt.

To her relief, he stopped a couple of feet away from her. “I could just leave, you know?” There was heat in his tone, but rather than angry, he sounded upset. That gave her pause. “I don’t give a fuck about getting in trouble, unlike you. I could say fuck this and walk right out of here.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Part of her wanted to push him, to goad him into throwing down his washcloth and leaving for good, so she wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore, but that would mean she would have to clean this whole place by herself. It would mean even more time before she was able to get home to study.

No, she didn’t want him to leave. But she wasn’t going to beg him to stay. She turned back to the books and started sorting through them. Butch glared at her for a long moment, and then went back to cleaning the desks.

They lapsed into a silence that wasn’t friendly, but wasn’t actively hostile, either. When she was done with the shelves, she grabbed a second washcloth so that she could get started on the chairs. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked past him, but ignored him, opting for the furthest away chair from where he was currently standing.

Unfortunately, that meant that they were working their way towards each other, destined to meet in the middle unless she skipped a few and started working her way back from the other end.

There were only two desks between them when Butch said, “It was a genuine question, you know.”

Her eyebrows pinched together, but her body was tense, suspicious. “What?”

“Why do you care so damn much about getting out of here?”

She snorted mirthlessly. “I have to study, Butch.”

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “We’re weeks from graduation and you’re asking me why I have to study? There’s less hope for you than I thought.” For once, he didn’t lob the insult right back at her. He just stood there, watching her. “What?”

“You’re already top of the class. What do you have to prove?”

“It’s not about proving anything. If I’m gonna follow in my dad’s footsteps and become the vault doctor, I need to be at the top of my game. You’ll thank me for it when I’m giving you stitches after you get wasted and hurt yourself for the tenth time.”

He laughed then, loud enough to make her jump. “You can be a real bitch, you know that?”

The comment startled her, even though it shouldn’t have. Butch was mean. He had said far worse many times before. But this one stung. Maybe because this time, she had the sinking feeling that he may have been right.

He brought out the worst in her. On reflection, the things that she had said to him would mortify her if she’d said them to anyone else. But this was Butch. And he wasn’t done.

“Nobody else seems to see it. Mr Brotch loves you,” he snapped. She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “If I pulled the stunt you did today I’d be in detention for a week. The Palmers love you. Your dad loves you.”

“Of course my dad loves me,” she scoffed, but then she caught the look in his eyes. More than angry, more than hurt, he just looked tired.

“Must be nice.” He turned away from her, going back to cleaning the desk.

Her heart was racing. In all the years that she’d known Butch, it had never once occurred to her why he was so angry all the time. Why he seemed to hate her specifically. Now that she thought about it, how could she have missed it?

They were both from single parent families, but while James had taken every opportunity in her childhood to tell her about her mother, how much he loved her and how proud she would’ve been of her daughter, she was pretty sure that Butch didn’t even know who his dad was.

Her dad was busy, working full-time in the respected position of being the vault doctor. Butch’s mom was an alcoholic, a laughingstock and the centre of a lot of vault gossip. On top of all that, she had no idea what Butch’s home life was actually like, but it can’t have been easy.

“I’m sorry. About what I said about your mom. That wasn’t fair.” It was an obvious sore spot and she’d jabbed her finger right into it. And maybe Butch deserved it. Deserved or not, it didn’t feel great to be the person pressing on that wound. It wasn’t the person she wanted to be.

“Yeah, well…” He huffed out a breath. “It’s not like you were wrong. I don’t wanna go home. And there’s only so long I can spending wandering the halls of the vault before I go insane.”

“What about the Tunnel Snakes?”

He looked at her then. His lips quirked up for half a second, and she realised that she’d never called his stupid gang by their stupid name before. Not to his face, anyway.

“There’s also only so long I can listen to Wally talk shit before I totally lose it. Don’t get me wrong, the Tunnel Snakes are my boys, but… It’s the same damn shit every day, you know?”

“I know.” She understood more than she would’ve liked. Life in the vault was stifling. She saw the same few people every day, ate the same food, had variations on the same conversations. Sometimes she felt like she was losing her mind.

Butch cleared his throat, but didn’t look up from the desk he was cleaning. “For the record, I am sorry. For… well, everything, I guess? You don’t deserve it but messing with you is the only way I can make my day interesting.”

She let out a surprised laugh. “You’re such an asshole, Butch.”

“I know, I know. You always make the funniest faces. Like…” He furrowed his brow and stuck out his lips in a mock-pout.

“Asshole,” she repeated, tossing her wet washcloth at him.

He dodged. “It’s fun until you actually get mad.”

“Most days I wouldn’t even…” She trailed off, her mind casting back to the stacks upon stacks of textbooks that were building up in her bedroom. Suddenly, she was blinking away tears. Oh god. This was the last thing she wanted.

Butch’s face fell. “What did I say?”

“It’s not you, I just-” She sniffed, trying in vain to keep the tremor out of her voice. She was not going to cry in front of Butch. “I have so much shit to do. I’m barely sleeping. And my dad doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s too busy with his research.”

Butch glanced back over his shoulder at Mr Brotch’s office. The door was still closed. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a hip flask.

“Here,” he said, holding it out towards her.

“What is it?” she asked uncertainly.

“It’s whiskey. Trust me. You could really use it.”

She took it from his hand and unscrewed the cap. She took a sniff. It was a more pleasant smell than she’d been anticipating, although the sharp alcoholic stench still hit the back of her throat.

Butch was watching her. She took a swig, determined not to gag. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was a coward or a prude. She swallowed it down, trying to ignore the burning sensation. As she handed it back to Butch, he gave her a look that bordered on approving. He took his own swig and then pocketed the flask again.

“Alright, now that you’ve loosened up a little, we’re gonna finish up here and then you’re gonna take the night off.”

“But-”

“No arguing,” he said, putting a finger to her lips. The motion shocked her into silence. His skin was softer than she’d expected. “You put the chairs up on the desks and I’ll mop.”

He stepped away from her, and she felt a little dizzy. From the whiskey. Probably.

She was finished before him, obviously. She hovered by the door as he went to go and empty to bucket into the sink.

Part of her brain was telling her to make a break for it, go back to her room and start studying before he could try to stop her. The other, much louder, part was telling her to swig down the rest of Butch’s whiskey and stop worrying so damn much.

He reappeared a moment later, and her choice was made for her. Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was the intoxicating scent of his cologne that washed over her as he approached.

“Alright, you ready to have some actual fun for the first time in your life?” he asked.

Her fingers wrapped around the edges of his stupid jacket as she pulled him towards her. He only had time to raise his eyebrows before their lips met, and he let out a quiet, startled sigh. It was a pleasant sound. She wondered what other sounds she could get him to make.

His hands came to rest on her lower back, pulling her towards him, and it was her turn to sigh. Her hands travelled up over his pecs to his shoulders, and she didn’t miss the way he shivered slightly as she linked her hands together behind his head.

He pulled away from her momentarily to look her in the eyes. His expression was warm and unfamiliar, unlike anything she’d ever seen from him before.

“Fuck, girl, you’re full of surprises today,” he murmured. She laughed, and he kissed her again, stealing the laughter from her lips. “You wanna go get a slice of pie from the diner?” His breath was warm across her skin.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”  

Masterlists.

Taglist info.

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Fragments of a Fractured Mind Ch3

Benjamin Poindexter x OC

Wordcount 1.7k| No warnings

AN: As I load more of these chapters up I will make a Masterlist to link this story and all of my one-shots I’ll post so readers can find them in one place.

Dex had never tried a quinoa power bowl before, but he had to admit he could see the appeal. It was a healthy choice, if not cliche and trendy. The food fit the atmosphere of the restaurant; low maintenance decor in dim lighting. He'd counted at least three people in faded jeans and Ugg boots. If it was summer he expected they'd be switched out for capris and Birkenstocks.

Zoe had been silent on the way there after giving him the directions. Occasionally he would survey her through his peripheral vision, the passing streetlights casting a warm glow over her as she faced the window. He had not been able to get an inkling over what she was thinking.

Now as they sat at the restaurant in one of the stiff faux leather booths, she had returned to her usual chipper self. Dex felt he was reverting back to form as well, a bad case of the jitters starting when he couldn't seem to keep his right leg still.

"So a fair trade then, a ride for food," Zoe said as she stirred her straw around in her iced tea. Their empty bowls sat in the center of the table, pushed together by happenstance.

"I guess, yeah."

"Hey, but the transaction's not complete yet. You still have to take me home." She leaned back in her seat, peering at him through her thick lenses. "I wouldn't mind talking some more first. I don't really know much about you."

"Why did you transfer here?" Dex asked, and she looked surprised by his sudden forwardness. He only jumped at the opportunity because he didn't want her to ask him something first.

"Well, it wasn't actually my first choice to come here. I needed out of my old job in New Jersey, and this branch had an opening. No one was clambering for a spot in Hell's Kitchen it seemed."

"No shit. What was so bad in New Jersey that you came here?"

"I worked in the Behavioural Analysis Unit," She said.

It wasn't difficult to put the rest together, but Dex couldn't imagine why she had chosen to work in the investigation of violent crime. She was too... delicate.

"I think I was still under the delusion that I could be the next John Douglas or something like that, but it didn't take me long to figure out that I couldn't cut it in that line of work. So I looked for an out, and I took it."

"Too bad you got saddled with us," said Dex.

Zoe chuckled. "Oh no, you guys are alright, except for maybe Hattley. Or maybe it's me. My last boss seemed glad to be rid of me too."

"It's because you're hard to lead." That had slipped out without him meaning for it to. Zoe didn't appear to appreciate the criticism.

"What do you mean?"

"Uh, well." Her hard stare rattled him, and he looked down at his hands in his lap, clenched so tight they were white at the knuckles. "On missions, you can be reckless."

"And you can be excessive," she countered. Dex turned a hard look of indignation on her but she didn't falter. "I'm sorry, did I say something you didn't want to hear."

"Right," he sighed. "Let's just drop that then."

She nodded, running a hand through her hair. "That's a good idea. I was having a good time until just now."

Dex found that hard to believe. He was terrible company to be in and he had managed to block her attempts at getting to know him at every turn.

"What about your family, are they here in Hell's Kitchen too?"

The family was always a good topic to bring up, as he had discovered with other work colleagues. Usually, they couldn't stop bullshitting the details about their loved ones, and that kept him from having to say anything.

"Oh God no. My parents are still down in Jersey, and my brother lives in Memphis. None of them were exactly thrilled at my move to the city, but they knew I was miserable in my work." She paused a moment, and he watched as her hand glided down her glass, her fingers collecting tiny droplets of condensation. "What about your family?"

Dammit, she hadn't stewed in that topic as long as he had anticipated. He swallowed, and his right leg ceased its incessant tapping. "No siblings and my parents are gone."

Here came the part he hated. A flash of sympathy and pity in the eyes. She reached her hand out across the table, forgetting that both of his were out of reach beneath it. "I'm sorry I brought it up. That must be awful."

"It's hard, very hard," he said, his eyes unblinking.

She retracted her hand, and something he couldn't understand flitted across her face. "I'm sure it is."

Was it doubt? She didn't seem to take his answer as sincere. Dr. Mercer never instructed him on what to do if that happened. He felt like he was drowning, and Zoe was the lifeboat pulling away from him.

"I think that's enough for tonight. You still have to drive back to your place after dropping me off, and it's getting late," She said, already stepping out of the booth to slide into her jacket.

No, it wasn't, it was only eight thirty.

Just a moment ago he would have been glad to be wrapping up the evening. It would have been on his terms, but now that Zoe was in such a rush, he was angry. It felt like she was bailing on him. Sometimes his own thoughts were exhausting, and he tried his best to shove them down.

The walk back to the car was spent with them having no eye contact. Dex slammed his car door with a little more force than was needed while Zoe's made the smallest clink shut. Once she had her seat belt on, she leaned forward and imputed her address into the GPS for him to follow.

Aside from listening to the computer's voice on which turns to make, Dex was finding it difficult to focus. He never realized how different it was to associate with a work colleague outside of work. He could talk to another agent well enough when it was about a mission, but he'd never been faced with social interaction, at least not since his time served in the military. Wade Wilson had been as close as he'd come to having a friend, but only because he was so obnoxious that he could do the talking for both of them.

Friendship, was that what Zoe's aim had been? If so, she had failed miserably. Or maybe he was the failure, he wasn't certain. Dr. Mercer had said he needed a North Star, but he already had Julie. He saw little point in keeping Zoe around.

When he pulled up to her apartment building, the street was quiet. She lived around the corner from Little Italy, a part of the city that was made up of older residents. That explained most of the lights being out at this hour. The streets had been plowed of snow, making it easy to pull right up to the curb.

Dex thought she would have moved like lightning to get out of his car and to the safety of her building. He watched her closely, but she remained still except to turn her head to face him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"For what," Dex replied with a frown.

"I was annoying, before at the restaurant. I can talk about myself and unload all of my past on a person, so I just assume it's the same for everyone. You're not like that. You didn't want to let me get to know you, and that's fine. I just... I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you said that," He pointed out. "That's too many sorries for one thing. It's fine, but you're right about me. I don't like to let people know me, and that means everyone, not just you."

"Glad to know it's not exclusive," She said, a playful smile gathering on her face. "Doesn't mean we can't be friends though. I don't need to know everything about you to know you're someone I trust."

Dex was glad it was dark in the car because he could feel a flush creeping up his neck to his ears.

"I trust you too." He said, clearing his throat. It was hard to relinquish the stoic demeanor he had built up, but he owed Zoe that much after putting her through an awkward evening.

"Good, that means I'll have your back with Hattley. Special Agent Poindexter, the best team player I know."

Dex rolled his eyes. "And I'm meant to promise the same?"

"You catch on quick, Dex. I knew you were trustworthy. Don't be afraid to sing my praises when she's within earshot." She reached into her purse, taking out a pad and a pen to jot down a short line. "Here," she said, sticking it to his dashboard. It was her number. "Proper friends should keep in touch."

"Thanks. I'll get back to you with mine," He promised.

That final exchange signaled the end of their night. It was a good note to leave on. Zoe unclipped her seat belt and adjusted her scarf before reaching for the door handle. "Well, good night Dex. I'm glad I haven't scared you off yet."

He watched her go around the car and into the nook of the front door before disappearing inside.

"Likewise," he said aloud to himself while peeling the post-it note from his dash.

For a brief moment, he thought about crumpling the paper and throwing it away. It would have been the easy choice, but something stopped him. Zoe wasn't a selfless, kind person willing to save everyone. Not like Julie was. She couldn't possess those qualities while working for the bureau, yet she had a spirit that was fierce and determined, perhaps to make up for the job she had failed at in New Jersey. He still didn't know what she could be to him. Not a North Star. Maybe he just needed her nearby.

[prince-septimus]

eager from 2021 prompts with Dex

11. eager w/ benjamin poindexter

"So damn eager," Dex breathes out against your ear as your lips trail down his neck.

Something in you bursts at the praise he offers, making you even more eager to please him and make this stolen time worth it.

It was always the same closet, and you were surprised nobody had caught on to what the two of you were doing. You had attempted to make it a different time each day, but those times had become all too frequent that you wouldn’t be surprised if someone yanked the door open in that very moment.

Dex’s head falls back, knocking into a shelf. He hisses as something falls to the floor and you pull away to laugh.

“After all this time, you would think you had learned your lesson by now,” you whisper, your lips ghosting across Dex’s. 

Dex chuckles, pushing you gently against the opposite side of the closet. 

As he goes to kiss you, you manage, “who’s eager now?”

2021 prompts are closed. happy new year!

[likeshipsonthesea]

I saw ‘We were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other’ on the good part prompts and. If that isn’t nurseydex I don’t know what is. Just dropping in the obligatory I love your writing!! Thanks for sharing it with us!! at the end of this ask :D

i've actually fulfilled this exact prompt for nurseydex before lol! you can find it here. but in the spirit of the task, i decided to write a new one, but i saw this post and got inspired to try to fit it into 100 words, so you get an actual certified drabble for this prompt. short but sweet, hope you enjoy!

“We can—stop,” Nursey says, standing a foot away as couples around them sway to the unexpectedly slow rhythm, hands clasped, heads resting on shoulders, chests pressed to chest, and Dex decides—

No. So it’s his brother’s wedding. So he and Nursey have been dancing—ha—around one another for years now. So it’s 100% not the right time.

He wants. He wants Nursey close enough that he can’t feel anything but him. He wants to guide Nursey through a song neither of them knows, just for an excuse to be close.

He holds out his hand.

Nursey takes it.

[the-universal-sun]

little!stan crying for his mama on hanukkah with cg ford and/or fidds?

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy First Day of Hanukkah! I set this to post at 8 am but it looks like I set it wrong, my apologies! Thank you so much to this lovely anon for the idea of Stan crying over his mother, this helped me form the direction of the drabble-the part that kept stumping me and to @thehessianslady for the sweater idea! I enjoyed writing this so much, and I hope you all enjoy reading this!

I hope you guys had a lovely holiday/will have a lovely holiday, but to any who are struggling or are feeling alone right now, know that I am always in your corner. I will always believe in you and I will always be proud of any of your accomplishments, little or small, nothing is insignificant. I am always open to talk if you need someone, for anything. To vent, rant, or to just chat so you have something to do! I am always here for you guys, and I thank you all for giving me so much love and support!

I truly AM sending all of you all the Love in the entire world!

XOXO

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

     The winter air was crisp and freezing outside the Shack, wind howling against the windows, promising frostbite for any who dared to venture out unprepared. Inside, however, was warm and cozy, the scent of cinnamon mixing in an oddly delightful way with the scent of potatoes. The soft glow of twinkling lights and flickering candles lit up the living room of the Shack-a fun mix of Christmas and Hanukkah decorating the space. Stan sat on the floor, bundled in a sweater two sizes too big for him, a homemade gift by Fiddleford. It was matching Ford's, both sweaters reminiscent of their childhood Dreidal sweater, but softer and with snowflakes adorning the ends. Stan had begged and begged for his twin to wear the sweater, giving him his patented Puppy Dog Eyes and wobbling his lips for added effect. It worked like a charm, Ford being weak to Stan when he was feeling small. Too bad Fidds didn't want to wear his special sweater that he picked out himself. Stan smiled widely and giggled as he built and knocked over his new blocks, Poindexter sat next to him and his new friend, an Oppossum he named "Shanklin 2". He woke up to so many presents for him; presents for when he's small and presents for when he's big! Stan thinks he loves Christmas if he's getting gifts just for being good. And he got to play with his new toys all day long, neither Sixer or Fidds telling him to grow up or anything. He felt free-free to play and to indulge in his fuzzy mindset, the holiday spirit soothing him and wrapping around him like a warm blanket. The only thing that's missing is an ugly sweater on Fidds and his Ma'. Except he can't talk to his Ma', not now when he knows the old man's home, surrounded by the super annoying aunties and uncles who were probably told to shun him back when he was kicked out. His head's too fuzzy and small to talk to her now anyways, his tongue not wanting to move to speak right, if he managed to say anything, he'd probably sound like a baby. Or drunk.

     Stan shakes his head to get rid of those sad and grown-up thoughts, grabbing his sippy cup half full of warmed cocoa-he can't stand to wait for hot drinks to cool down, burning his tongue too many times but never learning his lesson-and trying to focus on everything else. The pretty lights and ornaments in their tree-he's never had a Christmas tree before, Stan got to help decorate it and he even was allowed to put the star on! The Menora and the first two candles, the flames looking super pretty against the rainbow-colored Christmas Lights. He let it all wash over him, feeling his head get fuzzier and fuzzier, feeling even smaller than before. He chews on the straw of his sippy before a six-fingered hand replaces it with a pacifier; he giggles when the fingers tickle his chin before ruffling his hair. Stan feels so warm and happy right now, happier than he's been in forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "Merry Christmas, Fidds," Ford said, clinking his glass of cooled-down hot chocolate-he can never wait for drinks to cool down-against Fiddleford's piping hot glass. He had never felt so peaceful this time of year, always surrounded by fast-moving and loud noises during the season, family he hadn't seen in a year pinching his cheeks and giving him wet kisses. And when he left for college, he stopped celebrating entirely-aside from that one Krampus incident with Fidds a few years back-having no desire to surround himself with noisy relatives, to sit beside an empty chair. But this year is different, he's with his friend and Lee, and it's just the three of them in their little shack, it's peaceful and nice. Being here and in the moment with the two closest people in his life, fills him up with such a fiery warmth that his heart aches and his breath gets caught in his chest; he can't stop smiling and laughing, even when all that's happening is Lee staring at the lights, that's how all-encompassing his happiness is. Ford couldn't ask for a better first Christmas.

     "Happy Hanukkah, Ford, Lee." It was the first night of Hanukkah, a holiday Fiddleford's never celebrated, growing up Southern Baptist and all, so the traditions are all a bit new to him. Thankfully, as Ford and Stan both told him, it's just the three of them so there's no nosy fourth cousins to tell him he's not lighting the candles at the right angle or saying the Shehecheyanu wrong. He sat up, going to the kitchen to bring out the little gift he's been making for Ford and Stan; Sufganiyot. He's been working on the recipe he found in Ford's things-their mother's recipe he reckons-for a week now, and Fiddleford believes this batch to be a success. He knows neither of the men have had it for over a decade, but with how they're establishing all these new traditions in the house, he thinks it'd be nice to have an old one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Stan, who's been watching to doorway since Fidds left, perks up when he returns. He wiggles in his spot, hoping he's bringing another present or another tasty treat. He's been eating lots of them today, Latkes and gingerbread cookies and cinnamon pancakes, but he can't help but want more-Fidds' cooking was so good! Better than Ford's at least. He clapped lightly when Fidds came back in with a plate full of something he couldn't see from the floor. He gets to his feet, grabbing Poindexter and Shanklin 2, and walks towards Fidds, but Ford guides him to the couch instead, ignoring his pout and hand rubbing his stomach so desperately. Stan's starving, he deserves to have first dibs on the food!

     "Don't give me that look, Lee, you just had dinner an hour ago, you can wait a few more seconds before you have dessert." Ford takes his pacifier and taps the corners of his lips, getting a smile and giggle out of Stan. Ford laughs too, slinging a warm arm over his shoulder and pulling him in for a big and warm hug. Ford's hugs always make Stan melt, he feels so safe and protected, like nothing can come and get him and hurt him or scare him, not with his brother there to protect him from the outside world. It brings nice squiggly feelings to Stan's tummy, Ford's hugs, and sometimes those feelings make Stan wiggle in place from how nice they are. Like now, he relishes in Ford's and Fidds' breathy laughs as he wiggles under Ford's arm. The wiggles intensify when Fidds brings the plate closer to them, getting a good look at the delicious morsel he made them. Stan gasps with excitement. He made Suf-Sufgina-

     "Fiddleford, you made Sufganiyot?! Where'd you even find a recipe for that?" Yeah, that word Sixer said! Ma' made it all the time back-back in Jersey. How did Fidds know to make it for Hanukkah? Stan thinks he must be psychic or something, how else would he know and find a recipe?

     "Well, m'a bit ashamed t'say that I found it riflin' through your stuff. I assumed your mom must've sent it, so I'm sorry if it tastes piss poor in comparison." Fiddleford blushes, rubbing a foot on the ground and looking down, not meeting their eyes. Stan just giggles, Fidds said "piss".

     "Nonsense, F, I'm sure it's fine. If this is what you've spent all week in that kitchen working on, then they'll be great. Right, Lee?" Stan nods absentmindedly, almost drooling over the plate of Suf-goodies. They smelled so good, he needed to eat one right at this very moment. He looked pleadingly at Ford, pouting and whining, ignoring his and Fidds' conversation. He dives right in when he gets simultaneous nods, scrambling for the powdered-sugar-coated goodness. He takes one and shoves it in his mouth, doing happy wiggles at the taste. Fidds was so good at cooking, it tasted just like Mama's! Stan hasn't tasted this in ages, he forgot how good they were! He knows if Mama were here now she'd be fussing at him for being messy, wiping the powdered sugar off his cheeks with a wink. Sometimes Sixer does that, mostly Fidds, but it's not the same as when Mama did it. She'd probably get on to them about the wrapping paper still in the living room, making them clean it up before getting dessert. He misses her, now more than ever. Phone calls every month or so can only do so much. Stan feels his lips quivering, he hasn't cried over her in years, but something about this day, about tasting her recipe, he can't help it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "Lee, are you alright? You're crying. Is-is something the matter?" Ford's looking back and forth between Stan and the dessert, glaring at the Sufganiyot as if it was personally responsible for making Stan cry. Both he and Fidds startle when Stan gives a hiccup, his crying-silent up to now-beginning to have noise, sniffling, hiccups, and sobs emanating from Stan-the dessert plate having been moved from his lap at some point-as he curls over his lap, fisted hands rubbing his eyes. "Lee, come on. What's the matter, you were fine just a moment ago," here Ford pauses, hands hovering over Stan as he thinks. This is the first holiday they've celebrated together in over 12 years, a decade of holidays Stan spent alone and probably cold. Taking a deep breath, still unused to emotional talk, Ford asked, "Was it a bad thought, Lee? Some nasty thought ringing around in there?" Ford softened his voice like Fiddleford does, bringing a hand up to rub Stan's back, patting it to help dislodge a cough or two. He's not good at talking about emotions, at not being dismissive of emotions, but he's getting better. And these are Stan's emotions, not his, he's more open when it comes to helping his brother than he is when confronting his own issues.

     "Ma'..." Stan whimpered between sobs, his small and croaking voice cracking Ford's heart. He's missing their mother...It's understandable, really, Stan may have talked to her a few dozen times over the years, but he hasn't seen her since he was kicked out, hasn't had the nerve to, not with their father still kicking around up there. And with Fiddleford making her dessert while Stan was in his headspace during this holiday, all these big emotions must have collided with each other, causing Stan's tears. Ford goes to quickly console Fiddleford, to tell him that it wasn't his fault, because if he still knows his friend, he knows that he'd blame himself. He was right, Fiddleford looks absolutely downtrodden, his lips and brow furled down into the deepest frown Ford has ever seen on the man-rivaling his expression when he's furious.

     "Oh, St-Stan I'm so sorry-"

     "Nope. This is not your fault, Fiddleford, and it's not yours either, Stanley. We are not playing the blame game, not on Hanukkah. Fidds, Stan misses our mother, he hasn't seen her since he was 17, there was always a possibility that he'd cry today given the timing and his headspace-I should have accounted for that." Ford quickly assures Fiddleford, needing him to know how much it is not his fault. He turns back to face Stan, who's still crying but at least is looking up at him, "Stanley, it is completely okay to cry over missing Ma', it's been years since you've seen her and you're in a more sensitive headspace right now. So please don't call your tears stupid," here Ford wipes a tear trailing down Stan's face away, "they never are. I'll tell you what, first thing tomorrow morning, I'll call Ma' to get her alone, maybe to a pay phone, and then I'll put you on, feeling small or not, and we'll explain to her that we've made up and are living together, sound good?" Ford may be rushing this whole "consoling" business, but they've been having such a good day all day, which is a rarity with the three of them, and he wants to keep the good mood going. Usually, this would be Fiddleford's job, but Ford figures he can, in the spirit of the season and his friend's own feelings of guilt, be the uplifting and guiding person today. He wipes more of Stan's tears, bopping his nose to earn a smile out of him-that action always does-and brushing his hair back.

     "Now," Fiddleford's weak voice came a few minutes later from his place kneeling in front of Stan, "Is there anything we-anything I can do to cheer you up, Sugar Plum?" Ford knew that was the worst question to ask as soon as he saw Stan's lips curl, tears drying on his face but slowly stopping with the comfort of his caregivers. Ford knew this smirk well-it was the type reminiscent of the old Grinch movie they watched as children. It promised mischief. That look soon transformed into a teary eyes and a begging look, his brother even clasping his hands together with a pout. Ford had to give it to Stan, small or not, he knew how to play Fidds for a sucker. He burst out laughing as soon as he hears Stan voice, his tone quiet and childish but adorable, his request.

     "The sweater." Fiddleford's face dropped dramatically, but he was no match to Stan's puppy eyes. With a distraught look towards Ford, he heaved himself up and trudged off to his bedroom.

     Ford's suddenly glad to be wearing a matching sweater with Stan because Fiddleford comes out a moment later dressed in the ugliest sweater Ford had ever seen. It had lights, some form of discombobulated configuration of what he believes to be Rudolph, and a "HU HU HU" sewn into it over a dozen times. It physically hurt him to see. It physically hurt Fidds to wear, if the pained and cringing grimace was anything to go by, the wool looked incredibly itchy.

     But Stan was happy, smiling and clapping, wiggling around in what Ford and Fidds have deemed his "happy dance", so Fiddleford can suck it up. In the spirit of the holiday season.

[heeyjuuuude]

i firmly believe that, contrary to popular belief, dex is actually the bigger cuddler out of him and nursey. like, by a lot. and it’s not that nursey isn’t very physically affectionate—he is, for sure—but ... well. here’s the thing. dex did not grow up in a touchy-feely household. his mom sometimes gave him a fleeting goodnight kiss on the cheek, and his dad sometimes gave him an awkward good job pat on the shoulder, and his siblings sometimes gave him a cursory hello hug after long times spent apart, but ... that’s about it, really. and it’s fine, it is, but if there’s one thing that being part of smh has taught him, it’s that while acts of service is certainly his primary love language, physical affection isn’t far behind. he doesn’t go for it much, because toxic masculinity, but it’s definitely there and he’s honestly not even aware of it.

so imagine nursey’s surprise when one night, a month or so into their relationship, dex sits down practically on his lap while he’s working on his newest batch of school-induced poetry—not that it’s an issue, really; he had been playing around with the idea of a series of mythology-inspired poems, and this is the perfect excuse—and then dex just ... stretches out against him and curls into his side and tilts his face into the crook of nursey’s shoulder and neck. it shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is, because later nursey will realize that dex has actually been pretty tactile since they’ve been dating; it’s just that it’s a little more fleeting, like when dex drapes himself partially over nursey’s back to peer over his shoulder, and like when dex smiles at him, bright and uninhibited, whenever nursey hugs from behind while dex whips up a batch of eggs and bacon for their hungover teammates, and like when dex finds a way to press their legs together under the table at team breakfasts. still, when dex lays down against him—on him?—and shifts so that his front is pressed to nursey’s side and his arm is wrapped tightly around nursey’s side, mindful of the notebook open on his lap, and his legs are slotting between nursey’s, intertwining and curling, it makes some part of nursey’s brain go ??? and then !!! and. well. he thinks he could get used to this.

[hughiecampbelle]

Benefit Of The Doubt (Benjamin Poindexter Drabble)

Character/s: Dex

Word Count: 540

Requested: anon

Word Prompt/s: poison, soft, forgiving

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @hypsiacrobasiphobia @way-obsessed-5 @melody-of-scream

A/N: Love I hope you don't mind that I picked Dex for your fic request! To me he just seemed to be the most fitting, but I did go back and forth between a few characters :) I hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

You forgave him for his odd behavior. Turned the other cheek, defended his actions. You couldn't find a reason. You knew he'd never do the same for you, pushing you in front of a the bus to save himself. You chose to see the good in him, the softness under that hard shell. Some laughed, said it was all in your head, that there was nothing good in all the strange. He was cold, distant, you thought it was his way of protecting himself. So, you made sure to include him. At lunch during work, outings with other coworkers, morning runs, even just small talk passing by him. If no one else could be nice, you would be.

He made small talk in response, kindly declined your offers for outings and such, but always thanked you. Maybe you were too kind, forg8ving, letting the little things slide. You were the only one he would talk to. Others he'd give a word or two to, but he held up a real conversation in your presence. Sometimes you caught him behind you. Down the hall, the elevator, to your office. Stepping on your heels, tripping into you. The office was tight, your desks were close to one another, you never thought anything of it. Still, your fellow agents warned you. Be careful. Don't trust him. You thought it was the job getting their heads, assuming the absolute worst of someone because that's what they're trained to do. You would not do that.

You hadn't realized how poisonous he really was, the toxin setting into your bloodstream before you could realize. Everyone had been waiting to tell you I told you so, lined up by your desk with a dirty smirk on their faces. He wasn't fired, but it was close enough. Let go. Speculation he was somehow linked to Wilson Fisk traveled through the levels, over the phone, across the lunch table, as if you were still in high school. Unlike the rest, you refused to believe it. At first. You put yourself in his shoes, sad and scared if it had been you and not him. The entire FBI talking behind his back, someone had to be there for him. You didn't build up an immunity to it. His poison, disease, infection was too smart. He asked so shyly if he could join you on your run. Yes, of course. You hadn't seem him since he was asked to pack up and leave. You wanted to check in, see how he was doing, make sure he was okay.

You weren't a friend to Dex, you were an obsession. Your kindness and ability to stand up for him the way no one else ever did. He needed that. He never meant to give away his location behind you. He just liked the route you took. The same one through the mess of agents and cubicles. He didn't have to sit with you at lunch to know what you were talking about, what the others said about it. And now you were going on a run together. A first date. A hang out. Whatever you wanted to call it. He played dumb, as if he hadn't been running it with you for months.

[derekkpoindexter-blog]

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

part 2  //  read on ao3 

Dex had changed.

He had the Samwell chop, his shoulders appeared more relaxed, it looked like he had more freckles, which didn’t really make sense because it had been Christmas break.

So you know, Winter.

He seemed a little sadder, but other times a little happier. It was hard to explain.

Some things were still the same.

His flannel shirts, his quick wit and snarky comments, his disgusting black coffee order, his little smirk when Nursey said something funny.

Nursey knew something happened okay, the whole team did, just, no one was game enough to ask about it.

Dex had gone home from Christmas, drove, through the snow like a nutcase. Everyone else flying. One of those weird years where everyone seemed to go home (or at least to a home, cough Bitty, cough Holster).

By Christmas Eve Dex was back at the haus.

Alone.

Things had definitely improved around the haus.

Walls that the team had wanted to be painted were painted, the heating was fixed, the creaky hallway no longer creaked, the thermostat no longer changed temperatures randomly, the dead light bulbs had been replaced, the multitude of kitchen appliances no longer made a weird buzzing noise every time you used them with the tv on, the sin bin was half empty and the green couch had been re-upholstered and smelt scarily clean, all things considered.

Dex had even apologised about the dib-flip freak.

Nursey didn’t exactly buy the reasoning, ‘I was stressed and didn’t think we would get along bla bla’, Nursey could tell he meant the apology, but was convinced there was some other reason.

The change most notable, Nursey noticed on a snowy Thursday night.

Neither of them had classes the next day, so every week they made a point of staying up late to do homework, in an attempt to have a free day.

Dex was fresh out the shower, sweats on and shirtless, when he sat at his desk to keep working on some problem code that looked like rocket science to Nursey but was probably just website building.

“Showers free,” Dex mumbled before putting in his head phones.

Nursey looked over at the sound, preparing to get up and grab his towel before freezing.

It was not uncommon for Dex to sit at his desk shirtless, in fact, it happened pretty much every night after he showered, usually though, there was no tattoo.

Words.

A poem.

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

 In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced or cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

 Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

 It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

 Invictus.

A delicate olive branch underneath. Peace.

“Nice ink Poindexter.” Nursey said, breathless, chest tight for reasons unknown.

“Huh? Did you say something?” Dex asked, pulling his headphones out.

“I said nice ink.” Nursey replied, aiming for more confidence than the first but failing miserably.

“Oh, ah yeah, thanks, I got it done last week.” Dex replied with a nod.

“Cool.” Nursey said, smiling a nodding, feeling awkward without any explanation as to why.

Dex gave a small grin and turned back to his computer, putting his headphones in.

“It’s beautiful.” Nursey said, quiet enough that Dex wouldn’t hear over his music.

And if Dex hadn’t pressed play yet, well, that was his business.