hockey pounds

2. Kissing // Nurseydex

« {Part 2 of my Valentine’s collection.} »

a/n: this is loosely inspired by that scene from the webcomic Always Raining Here because i read the whole thing a couple of nights ago and let me tell you, there were feelings. enjoy!

“Eat shit, Nurse,” Dex said, taking another swig of his beer. “I told you that you didn’t stand a chance.”

“No fair, man. I totally would have won if you hadn’t blue-shelled me there at the end,” Nursey grumbled. He set down the Wii remote and got to his feet, trying to figure out how drunk he was. No dizziness or major balance fuckery, it seemed, but his head definitely felt kinda fuzzy. Now was probably a good time to start chugging some water; he still had homework to do later. He went to fish his water bottle out of his backpack.

“I only blue-shelled you because you blue-shelled me the last lap,” Dex said. “I won that fair and square.”

“Psh. If I were sober—”

“Dude, you only had three shots. You’re 6’2”. You’re fine.”

“Yeah, but you only had, like, a beer and a half, so between the two of us, I’m definitely the more impaired one here.”

Dex rolled his eyes. “Just admit I won. Stop being such a sore loser.”

“Well maybe you’re a sore winner.”

“I know you’re an English major, but ‘sore winner’ is not a thing.”

Nursey shook his head in mock outrage. “You come into my house—”

“Your house? This is my dorm room, Nurse,” Dex laughed. “You’re in my dorm room, playing on my Wii, drinking my alcohol.”

“…Touché,” Nursey admitted, returning to his spot next to Dex on Dex’s couch. He was probably sitting a little closer to Dex than was strictly necessary. He could try to blame the shots for that, but like Dex said, he was a 200-pound hockey player. Three shots of Fireball spaced out over the last hour really wasn’t much for someone his size. If he hadn’t been a city boy with no driver’s license, he could probably still legally drive.

The real problem, Nursey thought as he glanced at Dex out of the corner of his eye, wasn’t the alcohol—it was his stupid crush on his attractive yet probably tragically straight teammate. But that wasn’t really something he liked to dwell on.

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Now I Know The Truth

3k of PB&J in a Soulmate AU

For the 14 Days of Love Fic-a-thon hosted by @softkent

Also on AO3


Despite the stories spun by Hollywood, every person had multiple soulmates. Every person was born with a phrase tattooed on their bodies. For centuries, people believed it to be the last words your soulmate (singular) would ever say to you. This inspired fear in most and lead to stories such as Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet and Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights.

In the last five centuries, however, global travel revealed the existence of multiple soulmates for each person. Even more interesting, telecommunications proved that each soul mark is in fact much more nuanced than simply ‘last words’. The mark is meant to indicate the moment when everything changes. Sometimes that means hardships, separation, or death. But sometimes, the words can lead to something greater. If only the soulmates know how to navigate life and each other.

Bitty didn’t know about this technicality until he got to Samwell. Until Shitty and Lardo literally run into Camilla at Winter Screw and realize all three of their marks synch up. The phrase “1 in 4, maybe more” is very appropriate considering the high percentage of soulmates that meet multiple partners at Samwell.

He tries to be happy for them as they fall into each other. He ignores the way Ransom, Holster, March and April circle around each other, avoiding the moment when they realize they’ve been in a relationship forever. He rolls his eyes when Ollie and Wicks sneak behind the docks before games to kiss their boyfriend, a Chad, for good luck. But Bitty thinks it’s sweet nonetheless.

He isn’t even jealous when Chowder breaks up a fight between Nursey and Dex saying “I love you, but this has got to stop.” Which just so happens to be Nursey’s phrase. And much later when Dex tells Chowder “you mean more to me than a stupid fight.” He’s happy for them. Especially when they meet Farmer and she ticks off every one of their phrases by the time their Frog year is over.

He doesn’t believe it’s gonna happen for him. Not at Samwell at least. His phrase could be worse.

We’re a team is branded in small font on his wrist. It’s still customary to keep your phrase hidden from the public eye, so he wore wrist guards when it’s hot out and long sleeves at every other opportunity.

Bitty thinks that’s nebulous, but distinct enough that he’ll know it when he hears it. His words don’t come for quite some time. In the interim, he falls in love with Jack whose phrase is supposedly hidden somewhere near his torso. He doesn’t think much of it when he overhears Jack and Parse fighting during the Epikegster.

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There are a series of moments, a catalog of memories that come with falling in love, Dex realizes. It’s not as simple as the movie, it’s messy, and awkward, and Dex is falling hard.  

It was the last day before everyone left for winter break, and the Haus decided to throw a kegster as a farewell. It was just beginning to wind down; the explosive noises had quieted to a dull roar; empty cups had begun to replace the space left by warm bodies and drunken conversations.

But Dex wasn’t aware of that. He had left the party behind to walk Nursey back to his dorm (“Nursey patrol is a bitch, son,” Ransom had told him with a grin before clapping a massive hand down on his shoulder) and a fresh coat of snow had just fallen over the campus, and if he was home under a blanket he could appreciate it, maybe, but lugging an inebriated, 200 pound, hockey player around campus was not how he imagined spending his last night. 

It had taken them awhile to figure out the most efficient way there; Nursey stumbled like he was learning to walk for the first time, so Dex had shuffled in close beside him and looped an arm around his waist to keep him steady. It was practically useless, Nursey slouched and stopped every few minutes to tug his gloves off and wiggle his fingers into Dex’s pockets, but they were getting somewhere.

“Chowder drinks one beer and he’s fucking giggling. I–fuck,” Dex grips Nursey a little tighter when he trips over a crack in the sidewalk, “have a few shots, and…yeah, a few beers, but I need a chaperone?”

“You probably couldn’t even spell chaperone right now.”

“Fuck you, that’s what spellcheck is for.” The still quiet that follows after a snowfall is broken by Nursey’s raucous laugh. He presses even closer until Dex can smell his cologne and the tequila on his breath and he’s smothered by it. “I could write you sonnets and limericks (Dex doesn’t chirp him for slurring the word) and haikus until you’re dizzy.”

“Every time you open your mouth, I can feel my eyebrows singe off.” Dex is grateful for the hat over his head, masking the flush at the tip of his ears. “Dude, you’re probably going to wake up drunk and they won’t let you on the plane home.”

“Nah. I’ll chug like, five gallons of water before I go.”

Nursey hums (off-key) as they walk, and Dex is about to snap before Nursey speaks up again, “Will you miss me? When you’re back in Maine with all your lobster boats?”

Dex snorts. “It’s like 10 degrees up there, it’s too cold for that shit.”  

“Yeah sure,” Nursey says distractedly, jostling his hand in Dex’s pocket, “but you’ll miss me right?” 

And Nursey’s face is inches away, so close he can see the flecks of brown in his eyes and Dex wants to pull him close and kiss him, but instead he musters up a weak smile and says, “Maybe a little.” 

And Nursey’s laugh rings in his ears again. “You dick.” 

finnedpoe  asked:

”don’t apologize. that’s not the point. did you mean it?” DO IT

The first of your many prompts I have taken a hideously long time getting through - I’m sorry my love, but the others are coming I promise <3

NurseyDex, 1k. Unbetaed so any mistakes are entirely my own.


“Don’t apologise. That’s not the point.” Dex huffs, a short, sharp, frustrated sound, as he passes a hand through his hair. “Did you mean it?”

Derek watches Dex. The flash of his eyes, the tightness to his shoulders, the unhappy tilt to his sharp mouth. Tries to read him. Can’t.

“I guess.” He hedges, dragging up his shoulders, exaggeratedly casual.

Dex just gives him a look, one which is hard and disbelieving. They’ve reached that point in their coexistence - maybe its an Attic thing, a RansomandHolster, D-man thing - they can read one another with a look. Well, Dex can read him. Apparently his Dex-interpretation skills fell by the wayside sometime after his fourth drink.

Derek feels restless and upset, his throat thick, eyes scrunched against the threat of tears. Hurt and misery crawls beneath his skin. His limbs feel too tight; too hot; too much for him to handle. The alcohol has amplified it all. Head, spinning, feet, itching to run, hands, clenching and unclenching with the untapped energy thrumming through his veins.

He shudders out a breath. Forces calm. “It’s cool, man. Forget I ever said anything.”

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