#jack comes back home that night: bitty please never shut up

[striveattemptfail]

for the small overlap of my followers in the centre of the batman/check please venn diagram: take a trip with me to batfam x omgcp hell lol

some prior notes before i get into this:

for my own safety and sanity, i primarily won’t be focusing on the grimdark, death-filled origin stories of the batfamily

i will be fucking around with ages, characterizations, and relationship dynamics from both omgcp and dc bc this is my au and i do what i want lol

there’s gonna be a fuckton more under the cut bc this is all stream of consciousness and i needed to get it down or else my brain wouldn’t shut up about it /);w;(\

oKAY LEGGO /o/

jack zimmermann is The BatMan

broody, black-haired, blue-eyed, soft-spoken giant of a man who can terrify others with a glare

not quite a playboy in his civilian identity as jack zimmermann, but defo a himbo who trips over his own words and generally has no idea what he’s doing if it isn’t about his family or his family’s giant corporation

also pressure to live up to parents’ legacy as positive figures who constantly made changes to the city they loved? trying to follow in his father’s footsteps as an amazing philanthropist and business man?

*chef’s kiss*

he’s awkward and perhaps robotic about it sometimes but he loves his family (old and new) with all his heart and will fight the world to protect them

eric bittle is catwoman the night cat

flirty chatty, sneaky cat burglar who steals to fund his own interests

(it’s baking we all know it’s baking lol. he has a dream to start a career in the food industry but he can’t afford it yet so........ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

bitty’s got soft hands and quick technique—there’s nothing he can’t break into or break out of so long as he’s got the right tools

first meeting with jack zimmermann as the batman was unfavourable for everyone involved. eric was a criminal trying to steal a vintage dining set from the local museum and jack was......very jack about it

their relationship softens as they cross paths more often and they learn about each other’s identities

bitty left home at a young age and never looked back—he may miss his family dearly but it was for the best

besides, if he went back home then how could i run into you, mr. tall, dark, and handsome?

jack is very flustered by him and rightfully so lol

once he’s more integrated into the batfamily, bitty loves everyone just as fiercely as jack does

hops or bully as robin i/nightwing

i can’t decide between the two yet for who i’d prefer for the first robin and eventually nightwing

i love hops for the teasing, pain-in-the-ass robin and eventual titans’ leader, nightwing

but i also love the idea of (canonically second best dancer of smh) bully being an expert gymnast who came from a family of travelling performers, whose acts are tied deeply to their cultural identities

this is up in the air for the meantime, but either of em would be excellent nightwings

whoever’s not robin + louis would also be in this iteration of the titans

dex as robin ii/red hood

now i gotta be honest, i almost didn’t want to have red hood be part of this bc pain but!! i think dex would be an excellent red hood

picked up by billionaire jack zimmermann, dex is a kid from the streets who tragically dies in undisclosed circumstances

his homelife before jack came into it was taking care of his mother and protecting them from an abusive brother

he takes the mantle as robin with some trepidation at first but comes to love it with all his heart

after his death and eventual resurrection, he becomes the red hood: an anti-hero who cares for the underdogs, for the forgotten people of the city, fighting crime in his own way in the alleys where he came from

he goes on his own adventures with his own group of outlaws—nursey, a clever archer with as much dorkiness as he does archery skill, and chowder, a naive but kind and loving alien with godly powers

(no, neither nursey nor chowder were ever part of robin i’s titans bc i have Opinions™ about this and i want them to be their own ragtag group of heroes gdi)

(yes, i am just furthering my polyfrogs agenda. also you can’t tell me polyfrogs as joyfire wouldn’t be the best thing ever 😁😁😁)

ransom as robin iii/red robin

a tired ball of chaos, ransom would be such a good tim drake i can feel it

a bright young man who forces his way into batman’s life after robin ii’s passing and after looking up to both generations of robin growing up

he deduced jack and co’s identities on his own and then studies up like hella to become the next robin

he’s slightly terrified to present his findings to The Jack Zimmermann aka The Batman, but his bravery and thoroughness at the very least intrigues jack enough to take him under his wing (pun intended)

ransy’s parents are not pleased when he announces everything to them

they have expectations of the world from him but at the end of the day they love their son and they love that their son is doing good in the world

he’s a disaster bi btw

one of his bffs is holster aka superboy i, who is his righthand man in their team of heroes (young justice titans)

his other bff is march aka spoiler and basically his first love who is his partner in all things batfamily

ransom has the dick grayson problem of going back and forth between the same two redheads blondes for several years bc he loves them both very dearly

whiskey as robin iv

jack’s son who barrels into his life after years of secrecy

idk who i want to be his ~mother yet

initial instinct says camilla, jack’s ex, a skilled assassin-slash-mercenary with her own moral code

her relationship with jack would mirror that of roy and jade’s and whiskey would be lian.............except instead of lian it’d be damian LOL

camilla kept whiskey as a secret bc she knew who Jack The Batman and Jack The Billionaire was, but she’s forced to give him up when her life comes under threat and she decides he’d be safer with jack

jack and camilla do not have an antagonistic relationship before nor after whiskey comes into jack’s life, but just from the way whiskey grew up he’s got Some Issues to deal with

jack allows him to express/release his emotions with combat and detective training, and eventually he becomes the next robin

ALTERNATIVELY

whiskey is a clone resulting from the success of experimentation combining jack and kent parson’s dna (think conner kent being the result of clark kent and lex luthor)

kent is jack’s old flame and partner

they grew up together and were inseparable for most of their youth until a brutal falling out where jack eventually started his path to become the batman, and kent turned to crime and world domination

whiskey, again, was the result of an experiment studying human genetics that successfully created a clone of billionaire and masked vigilante, jack zimmermann + the head of the biggest crime league in the world, kent parson

whiskey comes into jack’s life after discovering his conception and wanted to learn more about his other father

he also left the league bc i imagine grooming a child to be a murderer in a villain’s syndicate takes its toll and whiskey saw this as his perfect out

cue the same journey to him becoming robin iv

other notes

shitty is alfred pennyworth but not an old butler. he is instead jack’s righthand man and best friend. if it wasn’t kent with jack growing up, it was shitty, and shitty stuck by jack’s side after kent left. they know each other as well as they know themselves, and jack would trust his life and family with shits. shitty’s basically his live-in manager and PA, but he loves what he does and he, too, protects the batcave with a shotgun (as well as a foul mouth lol)

lardo is lucius fox and heads all of zimmermann enterprise’s innovations. she got into a relationship with shitty after years of the two of them dealing with jack’s bs and eventually they two fell in love. she’s a genius and unafraid to put any of the batfamily in their place, especially since shitty won’t. yeeeeeears down the line, once jack puts up the cowl once and for all and she and shitty have their own family, their son picks up the mantle to become the next batman a la jace fox

tater is the superman to jack’s batman. a loud and kind humanoid alien who was adopted by russian immigrants after crashlanding to earth as a baby and grew up to eventually become superman

tango is superboy ii and whiskey’s best friend. idk if i want him to be tater’s son, but i do want super sons, and whiskey needs a sunshine alien just like damian lol

george is wonder woman. i am not taking any questions about this.

also april is wonder girl in young justice a la cassie sandsmark. i will not be taking questions about this either.

if she isn’t whiskey’s mom then camilla is batwoman. no questions here as well.

idk yet who i want as cass and babs but i know want them here somehow. i just dunno yet. maybe farmer as oracle?? ford as orphan?? vice versa??? use jenny and mandy instead???? maybe i should rearrange the whole damn family????? idk yet but don’t worry i haven’t forgotten them~!

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #check please #batman #batfam #batfamily #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #jonathan hopper #river bullard #william poindexter #justin oluransi #connor whisk #shitty knight #larissa duan #alexei mashkov #tony tangredi #georgia martin #jercy attempts words #idk what to tag this oops #zimbits #polyfrogs #holsom

[montrealmadison]

find our way back home

for @omgcpanniversaryweek day 4: free day

(here’s my first ever check please fic! because we all need a little more jack & shitty friendship in our lives. takes place the morning after the cup final.)

Late morning sunlight is slanting across the floor of the kitchen when Bitty gently nudges Jack away from the counter. “Honey,” he says, wearing that soft expression that Jack knows to mean let me take care of you, “why don’t you go lie down for a minute? I can finish up in here.”

Jack’s been up to his elbows in soapy water for the last twenty minutes. Doing the dishes is meditative, a task almost mind-numbing in its simplicity, and he’s been enjoying the chance to just shut off his brain after the presser. He can still feel residual exhaustion tugging at his limbs, though, and a nap does sound like an excellent idea.

“I’m not being rude by going to sleep, am I?”

“Shoot, no,” Bitty says. “Have you seen the state of the living room? Most folks’re passed out in there. Hell, Tater and Chowder were cuddling last I checked.”

“Ha, okay, then I’ll go,” says Jack. “Can you get a picture of Tater and Chowder for posterity, though?”

Bitty holds up his phone with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Already did.”

Jack laughs and leans down for a kiss, reveling in the sweet sound of surprise Bitty makes in the back of his throat. Then, smiling, Jack heads down the hall to their bedroom—only to find that he’s not alone.

Shitty’s sprawled in the big chair in the corner, the one that’s usually covered in laundry that Jack hasn’t gotten around to putting away. Thankfully he’s at least partially clothed (even if it’s just a pair of maple leaf-patterned boxers and one blue and gold Falcs sock on his left foot) and scrolling idly through his phone.

He starts when Jack walks in, pushes himself halfway to his feet. “Sorry to invade, Jacko. I was just checking my email, I can—”

“Shits.” Jack feels himself starting to smile. “Since when have you cared about invading my space, dude? Does constantly naked on my bed ring a bell for you?”

Shitty’s expression relaxes, and he blows out a long breath. “I don’t know, man. It’s different.”

“Different how?”

“Dunno. Just feels kinda weird to be all up in your space now that you’re a ‘real adult’.” He uses gratuitous air quotes, and he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Something about Shitty’s tone rubs Jack the wrong way. He knows how important Shitty’s friendships with the Samwell guys are to him, how hard it’s been for him in law school without them around all the time. He hides it well, but Jack knows a thing or two about what it feels like to hide when what you really need is to be seen. He doesn’t want Shitty to have to do that.

He resolves to invite himself up to Boston more often, just to check in. It’s what Shitty would do for him.

“Hope you know you’re always welcome,” Jack says. “In fact, I’m gonna crash for a bit, and just ‘cause I’m a ‘real adult’ doesn’t mean I don’t snuggle anymore. Wanna stay?”

This time Shitty smiles for real. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Jack curls back up in the spot he left just a few hours ago, flipping the opposite corner of the comforter down for Shitty. His friend dives under the covers and wastes no time in making himself at home, slinging an arm over Jack’s stomach and reeling him in.

They lie there in comfortable silence for a minute. For a moment it almost feels like they’re back in the Haus: the sleepy sounds of the team coming slowly to life all around them, the smell of Bitty’s cooking wafting in from the kitchen, the easy presence of Shitty at his back. It’s nice, Jack decides.

Finally Shitty breaks the silence to ask, “So, how do you feel?”

Jack considers the question. He feels… complicated, at the moment. He’s trying to cement the lingering scenes from last night into his memory forever: cameras flashing, champagne running down his face and soaking into his jersey, his friends’ bodies crushed against his. He feels the heavy weight of the Cup in his hands, the dream of twenty-six long years finally realized.

He’s been thinking a lot about the eighteen-year-old kid with wide blue eyes and curling hair who woke up restrained to a hospital bed and thought his life was over. Last night Jack pressed the Cup to his lips and shed tears of joy and wished, fervently, that there was some way to send this feeling back through the years. We did it, Jack. We deserve this. Keep fighting.

“I feel good, Shits,” he says at last, softly and kind of awed. “I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“Believe it, dude.” Shitty’s tone is bright, but his expression turns serious, earnest. “Listen, I’m so fuckin’ proud of you. You know that, right?”

“I…”

Jack huffs out a long breath. How can he tell Shitty how much his pride means? How can he tell him he’s glad for Shitty’s stubborn willingness to stick around, for the way he latched onto Jack at their first practice when everyone else was too intimidated by his name and his legacy and his sordid past to say two words to him? How can he tell him how grateful he is for every Annie’s trip, every late night in the library, every friendly bump of their shoulders in the locker room?

How can he tell Shitty that his enthusiasm, his unwavering friendship, and his fierce faith in Jack are a huge part of the reason the Cup is sitting in Jack’s living room right now?

He can’t begin to hope to put it into words. But he thinks Shitty gets it all the same.

“I love you, Shits,” he says in the end, and it feels like enough. Shitty squeezes him once, gently, butts his head into Jack’s shoulder. His breath is soft on the back of Jack’s neck, and his presence is a warm, familiar comfort.

At last, Jack feels himself relax into sleep.

#omgcpanniversaryweek #omgcp #check please #jack zimmermann #shitty knight #eric bittle #my writing

[parvuls]

fic: kintsugi

summary: The day after brunch at Jerry's, Jack and Shitty have a raw, much-needed conversation over the phone. Some issues need to be addressed before they can head down the road to patching things up.

word count: 6k

tags: year 3, post-comic 3.12, phone calls, friendship, canon compliant, apologies, introspection

notes: based on the prompt ‘providence + family’ by @atlasthemayor.

read on ao3

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Jack’s stomach churns strangely when he sees Shitty’s name flash on his caller ID.

It’s a disconcerting feeling, a slight jolt and twinge in his gut, both reminiscent of when anxiety coils low inside him and distinctive in some way. It makes Jack frown and set his heated dinner aside on the coffee table with the hand not holding the buzzing phone. He’s not sure he ever had this foreign reaction to Shitty calling him before, so after a brief moment of puzzlement he decides to write it off as a side effect of the exhaustion weighing him down.

The phone vibrates once more in his palm before Jack slides his thumb across the screen to accept the call. “Hey, man,” he greets, balancing the phone between his cheek and shoulder so he can pick his food up again. Shitty won’t mind the sound of his chewing, probably. “Staying up late to study?”

It’s coming up to half past eleven on Saturday night. Jack dragged himself through the front door and into the dark apartment at around ten forty-five, his muscles sore and his body beat from over twenty minutes of ice time. He dumped his gear bag in the entryway next to his shoes and headed straight into the kitchen without flicking any of the lights on, shoved one of his frozen meal plan boxes of grilled chicken and brown rice into the microwave without pausing.

The yellow glow of the microwave was the sole source of light in the room as Jack strapped an ice pack to his shoulder, still aching from Ericsson’s high-stick, stuck Bitty’s handwritten PB&J note on the fridge, and waited. The only thing he really wanted to do was fall face-first into his bed, text Bitty that he was home, maybe break down the game over the phone if Bitty wasn’t too busy -- but his regimen had taken precedence. He knew he needed to put in some calories and take care of his pain if he wanted to get up for his six a.m. run. By the time his phone started ringing, Jack was mechanically chewing on his food in the living room. His couch was more comfortable than a dining chair, plush upholstery engulfing his tired limbs, and it only distantly occurred to him that there was something sad about eating dinner alone in the dark.

Shitty’s call, when it came, was unexpected.

“Hate to tell you this, but eleven thirty is not late," Shitty replies, the familiar timbre of his voice tinny due to cell reception. It's an effect Jack is closely acquainted with after months of daily phone calls with Bitty, so he knows that's not all there is to it when he notices something else amiss about Shitty’s voice; like the rhythm of his speech is slightly off. He registers it as abnormal, but before he can figure out if he wants to ask about it Shitty carries on talking. “How’s everything going for ya?”

“Okay,” Jack answers plainly, piling rice onto his fork. He doesn't have the energy to think of anything more gripping than the truth. “Eating post-game dinner.”

Shitty pauses on the other side of the line, makes the creases in Jack’s forehead deepen. Something feels weird, but Jack doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it if nothing is really wrong. Sometimes people act in ways that confuse him for any number of reasons, and he’s not always good at telling them apart.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” Shitty says, clearing his throat quietly. “The Red Wings. Great game, brah. Your shoulder doin’ okay?”

Jack’s mouth slows down his chewing on instinct, and he swallows the rice with difficulty. Shitty never just tells Jack great game. Shitty talks about hockey like he’s the narrator in a porn film, with an enthusiasm unmatched by anyone Jack has ever met. Shitty once sang Jack’s praises for half an hour after a game against UND in which Samwell lost 2-0. That, combined with his tone -- something isn’t quite right, Jack thinks. He's more confident in that observation now, but his brain feels slower than usual and he’s too tired to connect any dots.

“Euh, yeah. I’ll be alright. Really have to shake it off and make sure I’m all there on Monday night, eh? We’ve had a good streak, but it’s always about how we play the next game. We’re getting better as a group.”

Jack’s tongue slips into hockey speak naturally before he can do anything to stop it, but instead of chirp him, Shitty makes a vague, throaty noise and doesn’t comment. “Yeah, I get what you mean. You and Mashkov really seem to hit it off out there, heh. Uh, listen -- I know you had to drive back for your practice, but. We didn’t really get the chance to talk much yesterday, and I guess…” Shitty pauses again, and Jack lowers the box to rest against his knee, apprehensive. “Well. D’ya have a moment? Because I’d really fuckin’ like to apologize for some shit.”

Jack’s hand clenches convulsively around his fork, a piece of chicken breast sliding off the tines and falling back into the box with a dull noise.

The early morning and then noon hours of Friday were an emotional blur. From the anxiety spike when Jack stepped off the plane to the car ride on the flooded highway; from the sleep-deprived, tearful conversation in Bitty's narrow bed to the cathartic brunch at Jerry’s with their friends. Jack drove straight home after his nap and stepped out of the car back in Providence to find his phone overflowing with chirping text messages. The chirps haven’t really died down over the weekend, but Jack doesn’t mind them, and he doesn’t think Bitty does either; it feels good to have a subject that’s been burdening them both treated lightheartedly. Trusting their friends with this secret isn't as heavy on Jack's shoulder as he feared it might be.

Shitty is the only one who hasn’t written much in the group chat. He and Jack talked briefly on the lawn outside the Haus after the six of them had returned from brunch, and then they resorted to roughhousing when the mood got too somber. Jack hoped that it’d be enough to put everything behind them, but if he pushes himself to think it through, a part of him has known that this conversation was coming. It wasn’t like Shitty to let things go so easily.

Jack's glad that Shitty can't see his face right now, because he can feel himself grimacing. He hopes his brief silence hasn’t been too revealing. “Shits -- it’s cool, yeah? We’re cool.”

“I don’t think we are, actually,” Shitty argues. His voice is growing strained. “You don’t have to talk, even --”

“C’mon, man, there’s really not much to say. Everything is good now --”

“Jack,” Shitty cuts him off, and the tone of his voice shuts Jack right up. Shitty can get wrapped up in things, can lose himself in long tirades about rights and wrongs and justice, but this tone sounds different than it has through the hundreds of rants Jack has been witness to. Shitty sounds dead serious. Jack blinks, and realizes: this isn’t Shitty being his normal self. He’s genuinely torn up about this. “Just -- will ya let me…? Please.”

“I…” Jack starts, but he doesn’t really know what he wants to say. He’s never been skilled at these kinds of conversations, and the odd feeling he got when he saw Shitty’s name on his screen squeezes even tighter than before, making him feel slightly nauseated.

“It’s -- I --. Jack, what I said in front of everyone during the home opening kegster… and all the other times I... That was some fucked up shit. I fucked up real bad, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jack tries again, but this time the words feel so wrong in his mouth that he has difficulty shaping his tongue around them. It tastes like an outright lie, although he wasn’t aware he was even lying at all.

Jack hadn’t recognized the churning in his gut until now, but Shitty’s steadfast apology intensifies the feeling and dredges up what Jack has clearly failed to notice. He wants to tell Shitty that there’s no need to apologize, but apparently that’s just not true; it’s only now that he realizes the sharp response he had to Shitty’s call is bitterness. Jack’s feelings actually were hurt by Shitty. Maybe he should be startled by discovering wounded feelings he wasn’t cognizant of for over a month, but if this past summer has taught Jack anything, it’s that sometimes he manages to overlook the most substantial of things.

“-- and it’s not enough to be chill about it now,” Jack blinks out of his thoughts and tunes back into Shitty’s distressed train of words, coming chopped and fast through the ear speaker. “I should’ve -- before, too, I should’ve created a safe enough fuckin’ environment --”

“You were always talking to us about creating safe environments, Shitty,” Jack interrupts him. His voice sounds hollow to his own ears, and he puts his fork in the box and the box back on the coffee table to free his hands. He’s still making sense of his own mental state, and he knows that whatever is going to come stumbling out of his mouth will be barely coherent at best. “It’s not -- it was just that -- you’re always saying it’s important, and then, câlice… It was hard enough, hiding, and then with you as well --.”

Everyone was allowed to be queer, for Shitty. Jack remembers how in sophomore year Shitty marched into the Haus, ecstatic about the five different people who had come out to him that same week, babbling about how great it was and how different Samwell was to Andover. He mentioned sexuality labels Jack had never even heard of, had accepted so effortlessly those borderline strangers who had trusted him with their identities. Shitty has always been the most open-minded person Jack knows, the one to talk endlessly about the inherent toxicity of heteronormativity and to lecture the team about never labeling others without their consent.

Jack’s not always good at pinpointing the root of his own feelings, but the moment he thinks of that thrilled look on Shitty’s face almost three years before, he knows, like a lightbulb going off, why he was hurt. Because it seemed like everyone was allowed to be queer, for Shitty -- except Jack. Like Jack wasn’t queer enough to warrant the same respectful treatment. Like he wasn’t really allowed to be queer at all. Jack had never felt particularly close to his sexuality, but when even Shitty assumed so assuredly that he couldn’t be anything but straight, it stung. He just hasn’t registered it until now.

There’s a split second of tense silence, and then Shitty says, “I didn’t even know you were having a hard time, brah,” the pace of his speech slowed down.

Jack’s eyebrows draw together. His right hand, absentmindedly, pinches the fabric of his suit pants and rubs the smooth texture between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t -- what does that mean? It’s not like you asked.”

Shitty’s breath comes out in a harsh exhale, crackles in Jack’s ears. Jack can hear springs squeaking and sheets ruffling, the sounds of Shitty dropping heavily onto his bed. “Brah. How was I supposed to ask? You never pick up the damn phone anymore. Shit, man, I know fuck all about your life lately."

The fabric of Jack’s pants stretches in the tight grip of his fingers as he blinks, takes in Shitty’s accusation, and realizes he’s right all in the space of two and a half seconds. He can recall a few missed calls that he never got around to returning, but it didn’t seem so important at the time. He was, and still is, in the midst of his first NHL season, trying so hard not to get so lost in hockey and his own worries that he drowns in it and forgets to be a good boyfriend to Bitty.

It never occurred to him that he was investing so much effort into being a good boyfriend to Bitty that he wound up forgetting to be a good friend to everyone else. He knew Shitty and he weren’t talking as often, that things between them haven’t been great lately, but the truth is he had so many other things to worry about that he let it drift to the margins of his mind.

Jack lets go of his pants, rubs his palm down his thigh to smooth the creases away. His momentary bout of anger deserts him with the release of a slow, purposeful exhale. "You’re right. I’m sorry."

"No, no, shit,” Shitty says immediately, switching back from resigned to guilt-ridden in the matter of nanoseconds. “Don’t -- damn it, don’t apologize, oh shit, I’m victim blaming aren’t I, I totally didn’t mean to put this on you --"

"Shitty --"

There’s the sound of bed springs creaking again and then loud footsteps hitting a floor, which Jack assumes are the background sounds of Shitty rushing up from his bed to pace the length of his room. He’s seen Shitty do it across his small room in the Haus countless times, and it feels strange now, having it happen forty miles away. "It’s just, you know, I tried and you didn’t pick up and I get it, fuck do I get it, remember how in freshman year you forgot to talk to anyone for like a week during the preseason stress?"

Jack cracks a tiny, shaky smile that he knows won’t make it into his voice. His first few months at Samwell were a horrible time, fraught with loneliness and frequent panic attacks, too absorbed in thoughts of the path he was supposed to take to function in the path he ended up taking. His therapist helped with that, later, but before that there was Shitty. Determined to be Jack’s friend for no good reason at all. "Yeah. And you broke into my dorm room to make sure I wasn’t dead."

"So it wasn’t like I was offended you didn’t pick up or some bull,” Shitty hurries to finish, “I know you, I get it --"

But that’s wrong, Jack thinks, frowning deeply. Surely, Shitty must know that. "Shitty."

"What? No, seriously. It’s not the first time it happened, and with the pressure of playing in the league and all, I totally get it -- it’s just --"

"You’re allowed to be offended, Shits." Jack says quietly. His hand reaches up to curl around the phone and tug it away from the crook of his shoulder, but his muscles remain tense even when his shoulder drops down. His other hand is still fisted on top of his thigh and the purple shadows cast by the faint stars outside the windows heighten the grooves of his veins. "I know I -- I know it can get difficult -- with me --"

"No," Shitty interrupts, sounding even more emotional than before, a penitent snowball that keeps on rolling down the hill. Shitty’s capable of rolling on forever, if he thinks something is truly wrong. "No no no, Jack, I didn’t mean --"

"Shut up, Shitty." Jack says firmly. He preserves, reminding himself forcefully that the sentiment he wants to establish is too important to be derailed by Shitty’s atonement. His hands have begun to shake slightly, but he needs to get it out. "I know I’m worthy of love and friendship and all the crap you were about to say. I’m just saying --. You’re allowed to be hurt even if it isn’t new behavior. Just because I -- my anxiety -- y’know. If it hurts you, you’re allowed to be hurt."

The other side of the line goes quiet for a long moment, not even the sound of breathing coming through. Jack closes his eyes, counts to ten, tells himself that it’s Shitty and that the two of them are going to figure it out. Fighting with Shitty has always been mentally hard on Jack, has always felt like shaking the only foundation Jack had to stand on. It didn’t happen often, but Jack tries to remind himself that whenever it did they always came out intact on the other side. Arguing was a healthy way to understand your needs and the needs of the other person, his therapist told him.

When Shitty speaks, he sounds awed. "Christ on a cracker, man. That was fuckin’ wise. That Bits’ influence on you?"

Jack pauses to consider it seriously, taking time to recompose his brain. Being with Bitty -- it has taught him so much, about his own feelings and others' and how to put them into words, the importance of open communication. He told Shitty that the previous day after Jerry's -- feelings could easily not occur to him, even if he felt them very strongly. He coexisted with them without acknowledging their existence a lot of the time, and this phone call is only one example of it. Being with Bitty, having to be aware and give name and give value to his own feelings to make things work between them, has changed the way he interacted with his emotions. Made him understand himself better. He’s not at all sure he would’ve been capable of articulating himself in a conversation like this if not for the progress Bitty and he have made together.

But being aware of his worth as a person, and learning that his disorder didn’t define him but shouldn’t be brushed aside either, that wasn’t Bitty. “No, Shits. That’s your influence on me.”

This silence is even longer than the one before it, and then it’s broken by muffled sniffles on the other side. Jack's heart leaps, panic building in his chest -- but then Shitty says, throat choked up, “I thought -- fuck, Jack, this is gonna sound so motherfucking stupid. But I thought you didn’t, y’know. Need me anymore. I know this is on me too, I’m barely keeping my head above water here and the whole -- fuckin’ Harvard situation, it’s not… but each day we didn't talk and I saw your game scores, or I would see those Falcs vids… it looks like you have this spankin’ fuckin’ brand new life that I know shit about. And you’ve got Mashkov, and St. Martin, and…”

Jack can’t find adequate words for a long moment, and once he opens his mouth he’s surprised to hear his voice is thick, surprised to feel hot tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “Shitty. Tater is great. And Marty is great, and -- Thirdy, and all of them. But.”

None of them are you, he wants to say, but that sounds too dumb to utter out loud. That’s not how Shitty and he talk to each other, or at least, it’s not how Jack talks to Shitty. Shitty is good at phrasing his feelings in ways Jack can handle, but Jack can’t ever make the right words come out of his mouth.

There’s another pause, his mind blanking, and then he says, “Tater didn’t make me sign a friendship contract.”

Shitty snorts, but it isn’t a happy sound. “Jacko --”

“No. Shits --. Tater didn’t make the effort to be my friend even when I was doing everything I could to push him away. He didn’t drag my ass to the Haus my freshman year after I hadn't talked to anyone but faculty in two weeks. He didn’t argue with Bergey until we were banked together on every roadie and was heartbroken when no one spread rumors about us hooking up.”

That shot goes wide. “Oh fuckity fuck, Jack, I’m a fucking dickhead --”

“Bordel de merde, Shitty, will you fucking listen?” Jack rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose, feels his skin crease between his brows. “Tater didn’t make me go to Gender in Warfare in Early 20th Century America because he knew it’d end up one of my favorite classes, or learnt my story about the fire extinguisher and the football team by heart, or -- or have been defending me behind my back since the first week he knew me. Tater’s great. I’m -- you know, uh, thankful, for having people on the Falcs. I didn’t think it could be -- after the guys at Samwell, no team would ever be the same.”

“Yeah,” Shitty says, sadly, in the tone of someone who knows exactly what Jack means.

Jack’s throat bobs when he swallows, chest aching. “And they’re great. But Tater -- or Marty, or any of them -- they’re not...”

None of them are you, Jack wants Shitty to hear, gripping his pants in his hand again to balance himself. He doesn’t know how to say it in a way that would make Shitty hear him. None of them could ever be you.

There’s once again silence between them, only interrupted by Shitty’s quiet sniffles and the erratic beating of Jack’s heart. His phone is too warm on his ear, clammy from sweat smearing over the screen, but he can’t bring himself to put Shitty on speaker. It feels like they’re too far apart to have this conversation already, like Shitty should be sitting here on the couch next to Jack in flimsy underwear like he was every time they needed to talk like this over the past four years.

After a long moment, Shitty makes an ambiguous rasping noise and admits, “I was jealous.”

Jack winces. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Yeah, I mean, apology accepted, whatever, just. I was jealous they got to be there for you every day, really be there in the moments I used to live through with you that I now know zilch about. I was used to that being me.” He then adds, much more grimly, “Except apparently I sucked ass at being there for you at all when it counted.”

Jack sighs. They veered off topic to talk about something Jack considers more important, but now they were back to that and he knows in the pit of his stomach that they, both of them, won’t be able to move on until they talk this through. This is a conversation they need to have, even if it would be easier for Jack to not have it at all. “Shitty. I need to tell you something.”

The thing about Shitty is that he has faults like the rest of them, but Jack has always known that he’d drop anything if Jack needed him. He knows because it goes unconditionally both ways. Shitty’s voice goes immediately even and he wastes no time before saying, “I'm listening.”

Jack swallows. It feels -- heavy, on his breastbones. It didn’t before, it didn’t at Jerry's. He doesn’t remember this weight from years ago, when he first talked about it with his parents, and then -- later, too much later -- with his therapist. His chest was so laden with other concerns then that there was no room for anything more, and this burden was only ever an afterthought. At Jerry's he was thinking of Bitty, of Bitty’s happiness and Jack's own happiness with him, and the necessity of the action for their joint happiness. It didn’t leave any space for this weight.

Now he can feel the weight. It’s stupid. Shitty already knows, and besides, it’s Shitty. Jack knows Shitty so well that he can practically predict the exact words he will use, and even if he couldn’t, he knows Shitty would never turn him away. Yet his chest feels tight, like he’s holding in all of his air, and his fingers are again shaking against his thigh. “Shitty, I'm dating Bittle.”

Shitty makes a baffled sound, clearly not expecting this choice of confession. “I -- yeah, dude, I know.”

“I’m dating Bittle,” Jack reiterates determinedly, eager to get it over with. “He’s a guy.”

Shitty goes quiet for a moment, and then he says, voice low, “Okay.”

Jack wasn’t sure he was going to say it, but now that they’re here, this is something he wants Shitty to know. “He’s not the first guy I’ve been with.”

Shitty’s sharp intake of breath at this is audible even over the phone, but other than that he doesn’t react outwardly. Jack's shaking hand lifts up to rub over his chest while he waits for Shitty to say something, and Shitty doesn’t keep him waiting long. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

That’s almost exactly the reaction Jack expected to hear, but for some reason he doesn’t feel settled. “It never came up before.”

“That’s okay, buddy,” Shitty reassures him. Jack’s not sure what Shitty is thinking, if he’s thinking anything at all. This probably isn’t as big a deal to him as it feels like to Jack.

Jack frowns down at the shadows of his socked feet in the dark, thinks it over, and then corrects, “No, actually -- no. It never came up with anyone else. But I did think of telling you. More than once. You were the only one… but I had reasons not to. Or, I thought I did.”

“That’s still cool, brah,” Shitty hurries to interrupt. “You don’t have to --”

“No, because,” Jack sighs, trails off midsentence. He doesn’t want Shitty to make this easy for him, to allow Jack to take the exit he’s being offered. He knows they could stop the discussion right there and Shitty would never say a thing, but he doesn’t want this to hang over their friendship for the rest of time, and he knows that it could if he doesn’t force himself to dig deeper. “Because when you assumed that if I had someone it must’ve been a girlfriend, it hurt. I didn’t realize before -- I thought I was upset because Bitty was hurt, and I hurt him even more with my reaction, and it mattered more at the time. But it hurt. And that’s not entirely fair to you, because you had no reason to think otherwise. Because I didn’t tell you.”

There’s more rustling in the background, and Shitty talks over him before the last word is out of his mouth. “Jack, no, you’re under no obligation to disclose your identity to anyone and it doesn’t give them any right to assume -- I assumed and it was so fucking wrong --”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, because it was. He’s not trying to argue that it wasn’t. Shitty was wrong, but that’s not the point Jack is trying to make.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Shitty sounds contrite, and Jack can almost imagine the look on his face now. The small wrinkle in his forehead, the downward slope of his mustache, the sharp angle of his jaw. Shitty always looks older when he feels guilty about something. “So fuckin’ sorry.”

“That’s okay, man. Eh. Well, it's not, but it's forgiven.” And it is, Jack knows. He’s already forgiven Shitty, would have to try so hard not to forgive Shitty. They’ve hurt each other in the past and they’ll most likely hurt each other again in the future, but it’s never done intentionally. Shitty’s friendship is worth all of this crap and always has.

“I guess I just... “ Shitty lowers his voice, and Jack has to press the phone harder into his ear to hear him. “Fuck, I don’t want to excuse my actions, this does not in any way justify the shit I said. But I guess, in my mind, even though I know you should never assume about anyone, I did think that because it’s you… that you’d tell me. If there was ever anything to tell.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says this time. He’s not sure Shitty knows this, but this is what he was trying to get to before. What Shitty is saying is reasonable even if it isn’t ideal.

“Fuck no. What the fucking fuck are you apologizing for, you idiot --”

“I’m not apologizing for not telling you, Shits,” Jack stops him before it becomes another rant. He’s growing tired of using so many words at once, feeling the toll of the unexpected emotional turmoil he’s dragging his overworked body through. “I know what you said was wrong, and I know I didn’t have to tell you. I’m saying I’m sorry if you were hurt by it. And I'm apologizing if it made you feel like I didn't trust you, or. Or some shit.”

Another pause follows Jack’s words, and he has to stifle the urge to collapse sideways into the couch and shove his face into a cushion until everything goes away. This conversation, as necessary as it is, doesn’t come naturally to either of them. They’ve been talking about their feelings for too long now and it’s starting to get awkward and overwhelming.

“I’m not saying I wasn’t super touched by your previous comment,” Shitty says, suddenly. “Because stereotypical masculinity is complete bullshit and I’m not ashamed to admit I teared the fuck up. But Jack -- Bitty has done some serious work on you. Or, like, you know, healthy relationships and all, you two worked on yourselves with each other to be better and all that, but. Man, I don’t think that’s a distinction you would’ve made six months ago.”

Jack considers it. The idea of someone’s hurt being valid even if the reason for it didn’t make sense probably isn’t a concept he would’ve been able to grasp, or at least would not have paid much thought to. Looking back, he was probably hurt dozens of times by little comments in the Haus, or things he heard around campus, or moments of feeling left out by his team; but when the reason for his hurt wasn’t completely logical it was harder for him to allow himself that pain. He would usually distract himself from it, instead. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“But can I just say again -- I'm so fucking sorry for being a heteronormative jackass. I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for hurting Bits, I’m sorry for --”

Esti de câlice de tabarnak. Jack drops his face into his palm and sighs over the string of Shitty’s rapidly escalating apologies. Jack is fully aware that Shitty is just going to apologize until they’re both old and gray if Jack doesn’t stop him. “Shitty, can you knock it?”

Shitty hesitates, but the flood of his words stops. “I miss you,” is what he says eventually.

Jack drops his hand down, leans his weight on his elbows and blinks at the dark room. Shitty used to tell him that all of the time. When they were apart on school breaks; when they were separated on roadies; when Jack had two lectures and a senior workshop on Wednesday nights and Shitty wouldn’t see him for several consecutive hours. Shitty’s affection was always abundant and inescapable, and Jack didn't know it was something he was lacking until he finally hears it. “I miss you, too, man.”

Shitty lets the gravity of it, the seriousness in Jack's voice settle between them, the earnestness he wouldn’t usually hand over easily when they were back at school. And then he says, “It’s hard as fuck, man. It’s hard to admit that it’s hard, too. It’s hard to see Lards’ pics from kegsters I can’t attend anymore, and it’s hard to find friends in this pretentious shithole full of pretensions dicks, and -- Harvard is fucking hard, Jack. And I hate being away from you guys, but I don’t wanna bring you down with my sad. You assholes are my goddamn family, there’s nothing that’s ever gonna replace that. It sucks knowing that I'm stuck here. I miss you so much it drives me fuckin’ insane.”

Jack knows, instantly and wholeheartedly, what Shitty is talking about. He’s living his dream and he loves the Falcs and he’s sincerely grateful for all of it even on his worst days. But sometimes stepping off the ice after a grueling practice and getting pictures of Bitty, laughing with Holster and Ransom on the ice at Faber -- it aches somewhere deep inside him. Sometimes he lies awake in foreign hotel rooms in foreign cities, and while most nights he longs for nothing more than Bitty’s presence, others he closes his eyes and wishes Shitty was there to crawl into his bed again. Sometimes he puts on his jersey before games and imagines the blue and yellow are red and white. His team from Samwell is his family, too, and sometimes missing them feels like missing an amputated limb.

“I wish we got to see each other more,” Jack squeezes out. His windpipe feels strangled, and for a moment he thinks that if he blinks too hard tears might well up again. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s so tired his body is shutting down, or because he’s been holding on to more emotions than he previously thought. “I didn’t know --. I feel the same way, Shitty, but I didn’t know you felt like that. I’m sorry we didn’t really talk much lately.”

It wasn’t something Jack was consciously aware of, but he more or less assumed that if Shitty was ever struggling he would just reach out for help. Shitty was always the better one of the two of them at communicating his feelings, at saying when he needed something or was going through a rough time. It never occurred to Jack to reach out and ask because he always figured that Shitty would come to him first. It's a startling realization. He really isn’t as good a friend as Shitty deserves.

“‘S not your fault,” Shitty objects, even though in some ways it really is. But Shitty means it, Jack knows, despite the lingering hints of anxiety. Shitty wouldn’t say it if he didn’t honestly believe it wasn’t Jack’s fault.

“Maybe, but you should make time for the things that matter to you, right? I’ll try to be better about that. I wanna be there for you, too.”

Shitty sighs, and the tails of it turn into a breathy, weary laugh. “Fuck, Jacko, this is a fuckin’ sobfest. Shit, man. Yeah. I’ll try, too. We could Skype, even. You know I miss that mug of yours.”

Jack finally pulls the phone away from his ear, wipes the sweat tracks away and switches the call to speakerphone. His calendar app is full of cute little reminders Bitty leaves anonymously, like 06:30 work hard and have fun! or 11:11 someone is thinking of you. He’s developed a habit of checking his calendar often these past six months, counting down the days until he gets to see Bitty next. He’s sure it won’t be easy, especially with the progression of the Falconers’ season, but from now on he’ll have to make every effort to fit more people into his schedule. Bitty makes him happy, but he’s not the only one who does.

Jack scrolls through the events logged into his upcoming week. He’s got a game on Monday and one at home on Wednesday, and then Thursday is American Thanksgiving. Bitty is throwing together a whole meal for the Samwell team. He told Jack that he’s under no obligation to come if practice time doesn’t allow it, but... “Are you going to Hausgiving on Thursday?”

Shitty curses loudly. “Fuck, I fuckin’ wish, but I don’t know if that’s smart. I’ve got this fuckin’ test coming up. But I promised Lar-- uh --”

Jack smirks, even if it’s only to himself in an empty apartment. Lardo texted him after Jerry’s to let him know that the two of them will exchange deets privately like civilized bros, but Shitty still seems to be under the illusion that he’s fooling someone. Like his heart-eyes haven’t been obvious from space -- and Jack is painfully aware that if he noticed, that really says something. “Lardo, eh? Not getting out of that one.”

He can almost see Shitty’s answering furious blush from all those miles away. “Fuck you, Zimmermann, don’t make this about me. What I was sayin’ is, I wanna be there super freakin’ bad -- we all know I will gladly sell my right leg for Bitty’s cooking --”

“And for Lardo’s company,” Jack chirps, incredibly satisfied with this turn of conversation.

“I will fuck you right up, don’t you think I won’t!” Shitty threatens emptily, even though Jack takes him down every single time. “Seriously. Your bro becomes a pro athlete and suddenly he thinks he’s a goddamn comedian. Anyway. For Bitty’s cooking, I will make an effort. You got team stuff?”

“No,” Jack says with finality, swiping his calendar closed. He always feels better when things are put into action. “I think I’m going.”

“For Bitty?” Shitty asks, most likely trying to chirp Jack back.

“Well. Yes,” Jack says, perfectly honest. He’s not in any way ashamed of how much he wants to be near Bitty all of the time. He doesn’t think he can remember ever being less ashamed of anything in his life. “But also for you. Think you can meet me there?”

Shitty’s quiet. And then he says, “For my best friend? I’ll meet you halfway across the universe, Jackabelle.”

After the two of them hang up the call, Jack doesn’t move, his eyes fixed blindly in the direction of the windows across the room. His food is growing cold on the coffee table, but Jack thinks that at this point he might genuinely be too tired to eat. Whatever little energy he had left after the game was spent on this conversation with Shitty. He doesn’t regret it; they needed to say all of those things. Jack needed to hear all of those things, both so he could forgive Shitty for something he didn’t know he was holding onto, and so he could work on being a more considerate friend.

The game plan is solid, though, Jack decides. Thanksgiving dinner at the Haus will bring the opportunity to be completely honest with his friends after months of hiding a big aspect of his life from them. And it’d be fun, too. Ransom would put together actual charts for the seating arrangement, and Holster would draw everyone into a betting pool on the football game results, and Bitty would inevitably prepare insane amounts of food using the frogs as his sous chefs. He would probably insist that they’d hold hands around the table and say one thing each of them wants to give thanks for, as well.

Jack doesn’t mind American Thanksgiving, but he’s never really seen the point of that ritual. He’s known for a long time now what he's truly grateful for.

#omgcp #jackshitty #jackshitty fic #omgcheckplease #pavfics #i decided not to wait for friendship day because i'm not sure i'll be around to post then #but i hope you'll enjoy this anyway? #i wanted to write something about their friendship in early y3 in forever

[heeyjuuuude]

so i’m finally posting some of my writing!! any feedback is welcome — it’s been years since i’ve posted anything, and my writing style has changed quite a bit. (this is so much longer and more intense than i had planned good lord.)

a couple things real quick! in this, there are some thinly-veiled references to nsfw happenings and some decidedly less thinly-veiled internalized homophobia, some of which comes from bitty’s experience with religion, and general homophobia. there’s also a passing mention of past canon-typical underage alcohol consumption. please read with caution, and if you have any concerns or think i missed a tag, please please please contact me!! going by ao3 standards, this is rated mature.

edit: this is now posted on ao3! you’re not allowed to judge me for my old fics lmao

(we’ll take it slow and) grow as we go

The thing is, Eric does want this. In the weeks between three stolen kisses in an empty bedroom and Jack joining him in Madison, he spent nights alone except for the ghost of Jack’s lips on his, and in his mind those lips press under the corner of his jaw and then over the swell of his Adam’s apple and then into the dip of his collarbone, and maybe they go lower and lower and lower.

In the privacy of his room, late enough at night that Mama and Coach have long ago knocked their goodnights on his closed bedroom door, this is safe to imagine, and it’s not quite anything new to him. He’s known without any doubt he prefers boys since he was fifteen and fumbling with the computer mouse on days when the house was empty but for a small teenager with red cheeks and wide eyes. He spent many nights with videos of men dressed in nothing burned into the backs of his eyelids, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and one hand tucked under the elastic lining the top of his boxers. And for exactly the same number of nights of that, there was a half hour spent in tears or near it, wondering if there was something wrong with him and wondering if Father Wilson was right in his homily last week and wondering how long he needs to pretend to think of girls with long wavy hair instead of boys with callused hands.

So no, it isn’t new and hasn’t been for years, but it feels like it is. There are similarities between then and now — Coach is down at the school, busy running his football players into the ground under the blazing summer sun, and Mama is on a front porch miles away, busy sipping sweet tea with her church friends under the brim of a baseball cap, and Eric’s cheeks are burning bright. The differences, though, are more important. He has his body curled into Jack’s, his lips pressed to Jack’s, his fingers tangled around Jack’s. They’re trading sweet, lazy kisses, laying on their sides with Eric’s dark teal duvet pulled around their shoulders so that the warmth of their bodies is trapped around them. He finds he doesn’t much mind the heat, and he supposes the fan whirring and clicking above their heads helps, but there’s just something blooming in the air between them — not that there’s much air there — and he isn’t sure whether it’s love or lust but he is sure that some part of him is aching for it in a way he isn’t used to.

He tells himself that it’s okay to want this, as Jack’s lips part against his. He tells himself that the heat simmering low in his stomach is okay when Jack slots one leg through both of his, and when his boyfriend’s leg presses higher, he tells himself that rocking his hips against the pressure is okay. There have been times when he forgot, and years of living in a conservative, Southern, and Christian house catch up to him. The first time Jack kissed him — and the second time that had followed immediately, and the third — had left him with a whirling mind and tight chest and a lip gnawed into red and pain by his own teeth, like that would sting the gentle pressure of Jack’s lips back into reality. The kissing he isn’t a stranger to, not really, but somehow, irrationally, there is a world of difference between being maybe a step past tipsy, clumsily making out with his Winter Screw date as rough, strong fingers curled around the back of his neck, and being in his childhood home, room, bed with his boyfriend and pressing open-mouthed kisses to eager, soft lips as his hips grind, lazy and slow, to seek the sweet pleasure being offered to him.

Eric tells himself it’s okay, but when Jack’s fingers lower from his shoulders to his waist to below the band of his boxers, he forgets.

There’s a moment where he doesn’t quite realize what’s happening, and then their lips separate and a Is this okay is offered to him on a breath and a silver platter. In the same moment that he recognizes the hard line nudging at his thigh, Eric is pushing at Jack’s chest, suddenly needing space that he doesn’t have. He’s mumbling words like hang on and wait, even as Jack manages an awkward roll-scoot combination that has him nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. And then they’re staring at each other, equally wide-eyed and flushed, and Eric clamps his mouth shut. He’s sure that opening it would be condemning, sure that words would tip over the edge of his tongue and tumble, rough and unplanned, into the fragile silence that separates them. He’s also sure that he doesn’t really want that to happen.

“Bits,” Jack finally says, simply, after a full minute has disappeared. His voice is gentle but unsure, cautious and caring. It’s what Eric is waiting for, apparently, because he slumps forward like a puppet with its strings abruptly snipped, and in between one moment and the next he finds himself with his forehead tucked into the corner of Jack’s neck and shoulder. He feels Jack begin to reach for him, automatically, and then he pauses; Eric nods, and one hand wraps around the back of his neck, a thumb stroking slowly, and the other arm winds around his waist to pull him forward a little. “Bitty, it’s okay. I mean — is something wrong?”

When a slightly helpless laugh flies from his mouth, Eric just shakes his head, and chases the noise with words. “No, honey. Just ... old mindsets die hard, y’know?” It takes one, two, three heartbeats, but he feels the second Jack understands, because the thumb rubbing at his hairline where it lies on the base of his skill pauses, and the rest of his fingers twitch like they want to tighten and only get that they shouldn’t a moment too late. Eric heaves a heavy sigh. “I just — it’s so frustrating,” he admits to Jack’s shirt. “I mean, I tell others that it’s okay to be queer all the time. All the time! But with me it’s just sort of ... different. I still, um. I still can’t handle ....” He trails off and pulls away a little, keeping his head tilted down and his eyes trained on Jack’s shirt. There’s a piece of fuzz clinging to it; he pulls it off and wriggles his fingers over the edge of the bed until it falls to the ground. “The idea of me being intimate with a guy is kinda ... off.”

A beat. And then — “Are you asexual?” 

“Oh, I — no, I don’t think so.” He’s considered it, briefly, in the past, especially after Shitty’s talk about how someone can be asexual and still enjoy sex, but he’s positive he still feels that sort of attraction. Lord help him, he’s beyond sure.

“It’s okay if you are, Bits. We don’t ever have to —”

“Jack, you sweet boy. I really appreciate that, I do, but I’m not. I do want to — to be intimate with you. I just ... I don’t know, there’s no explaining it. But I think it’s just the mindset I grew up in and it’s harder to shake than I thought.” Eric pauses for a second, considering his own words, and then looks up to see if Jack’s expression will somehow help him.

It’s a mistake. The look on Jack’s face is — it’s not really pitying, but it’s ... sorrowful, he realizes. Sorrowful is the word. It makes Eric’s heart constrict a little, and then he finds himself smiling a little, almost against his will. Before Jack can say whatever is on the tip of his tongue, Eric leans in to brush a quick, chaste kiss against his lips, and then pulls back to tilt his head in until their foreheads and then noses connect. He waits a moment before saying anything, still mindful of how Jack had seemed to be wanting to speak up, but after the clock on the other side of the room has carefully counted out seven seconds of quiet, he exhales, and the noise is definitely either a hum or a sigh.

“I hate that I can’t — can’t practice what I preach,” Eric confesses finally, the words reaching out to bridge the little distance there is left between them, like they can make up for the fact that they’re no longer as entwined as they had been just a minute or so ago. “I feel so hypocritical, being so out and proud at Samwell and so ... so afraid to actually be proud of myse — no, that’s not right.” He whines, frustrated, and his eyes, already closed, tighten. He can feel the way it makes his forehead wrinkled against Jack’s. “I am proud of myself. But sometimes it’s like my brain doesn’t really know that. My heart does, and my — my body, but my brain’s just sorta like ‘No, that’s okay!’ And I guess it’s just because I’ve ... well, I’ve been told that it isn’t okay my entire life. Did you know my mama’s first conversation with me about the queer community involved her showing me an article about a man who decided to never date or anythin’ because he was gay and wanted to be able to dedicate his life to God? And, I mean, it’s his decision, I guess, but then she said all this stuff about how that was exactly what gay people should do. Which was just so hard to hear, because at the time I was maybe thirteen an’ startin’ to realize I wasn’t straight an’ that kinda stuck with me all these years an’ — and —” Another high pitched whine marks the end of the sentence, and he begins thunking his head lightly against Jack’s shoulder — at some point he shifted — until a hand curls into his hair, holding him firmly and effectively immobilizing him.

“Whatever you feel is valid,” Jack starts, slow but steady, “but that doesn’t make it right. You aren’t broken for wanting this. And I know you know this, so don’t look at me like that, but you need to hear it again sometimes.”

It isn’t until he hears those words that he is struck with how much he needed them, and then Eric is struck with such an overwhelming wave of fondness — because Jack knew, just like he always did, exactly what Eric had needed — that all he can do is squirm closer and promise himself that he’ll finally give in and make that nutritionist-approved version of the pie Jack’s been asking for.

After a stretched out silence, Jack’s arms find their way around his waist again and Eric is pulled close, and he feels more than hears when there’s an inhalation that seems to be leaning into a sentence. He waits patiently when none follows immediately, and soon after —

“What do you need from me, bud?” Jack asks, the words quietly pleading and cracking but so, so grounding. Eric sort of sinks into them, huffing a warm, maybe-slightly-wet laugh into the soft fabric of Jack’s shirt, and takes the time to consider the question.

“I — at some point we should ... well, I think there’s a little more to talk about,” he admits, and Jack nods his agreement with an encouraging hum. The next sentence is loosed before he really thinks about it, but in its release and freedom he finds it true. “But, um, for now, I think I’m done. Can we just stay here until Mama and Coach get home?”

“Of course, Bits, yeah. Whatever you need.” Without another word, they begin to move around again, shifting until they’re molded together, secure and warm and perfect. Eventually they find themselves in a mimicry of their position from the beginning, curled up on their sides and facing each other with their legs and fingers tangled, but Eric keeps his face in the safety of Jack’s chest, and Jack cranes his neck to whisper kisses into the hair on the crown of his head.

“Thank you,” Eric offers, in between grazing two kisses on the exposed skin of Jack’s collar. He can sense the head tilt that receives this, so he clarifies, “Thank you for being so ...” only to come to the conclusion that he doesn’t know the words that will summarize the feeling in his chest. Luckily, it seems like he doesn’t need to.”

“Yeah, Bits. Anytime. Anything.”

And with that, Eric lets his eyes close and gently separates his fingers from Jack’s only to clutch at his shirt instead, and he reaches up with his face to find his boyfriend waiting for him. He smiles as their lips meet.

#annie writes #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #zimbits #zimbits fic #check please! #missing scene #check please missing scene #madison visit #this is CONSIDERABLY longer than i had wanted it to be. ugh #i just really love writing bitty though #plus this fic was Very Personal to me? #as a southern and catholic and queer person #also this is my 100th post!! which is super exciting!! #how many ways can i say ‘it was quiet’? let’s find out shall we #excessive use of hyphens #excessive use of commas #also bitty’s story abt his mom and the article? based entirely off my own experience :) #so is the way i wrote his accent lmao like i definitely drop off some Gs from -ing verbs and the D in and when i’m having Feelings #i literally don’t know how to end fics #i know i said this was too long but it’s also too short #like i was aiming for under 1k and it’s hovering around 2k ... #but also i have a lot more to say about this and i’m not sure i got across what i was trying to #i just can’t do the words anymore #god i’ve been working on this for like a week and i still!! don’t really love it!! #oop i just edited and it is now over 2k #✌️✌️✌️

[bittysvalentines]

Snapshots of Domesticity

From: @mamashitty

To: @bajillionkittens-voltron

A series of snapshots of domestic bliss for Zimbits!

Rating: General. 

 I Hope you enjoy the fic! I couldn't decide on one fluffy and domestic Zimbits thing to write, so I went with four little snapshots.

Bitty was tired and his whole body ached. Muscles that he hardly ever used when playing hockey were screaming at him. He had not realized how many things he had accumulated over at the Haus in the time he had lived there, he had not realized how many things he had left behind at his Mama’s house that he had wanted to move in with Jack once it became official. He had thought that he had already moved in most things worth moving in throughout the past two years, but apparently not. 

He had not realized that some of the stuff he had been holding onto was so heavy either, at least, after hours of moving. 

There was still so much to be done. Boxes were scattered all over the condo, but Bitty was too tired to deal with them. After family and friends had helped him move, he had had to bake them a pie while they waited for the pizza they had ordered to be delivered. He had hummed and blushed when the realization hit him that the kitchen in Jack’s was officially his kitchen too. It did not matter that Jack had always called it Bits’ kitchen because then it was not quite as official. It had only been his kitchen on random weekends, over the summer, and on school holidays. But now it was always his kitchen, and well, if Bitty needed a moment to himself with that information, no one noticed.

Everyone had gone home a few hours ago, and Jack had tugged Bitty by the waist onto the couch. He had squirmed on Jack’s lap, twisting around so he could capture his mouth in a kiss. A sleepy kiss with no promise of much more even though there had been so many plans about Jack’s their bed earlier in the day, when they had both been so fresh-faced and naive about how exhausting moving could be. Bitty told Jack to put a documentary on, that he was only going to rest his eyes a little bit, and then they could move to the bed. He could feel Jack chuckle silently at that.

He fell asleep.

“Bits, Bits…” He felt Jack gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes opened slowly to look at his boyfriend, confusion as to where he was, and why his body was sore before he remembered.

“Jack,” Bitty replied, his voice thick with sleep.

 “We should get into bed,” Jack replied, and Bitty could just hear the faintest hint of laughter in those words. 

“No, too comfortable,” Bitty said, with a pout and then Jack was laughing.

“Bitty,” he said, and Bitty continued to pout. 

“Fine,” Jack huffed out in reply, but Bitty noticed a glint in his eyes.

“Jack…. What are you thinking?”

“That I will just have to carry you,” and even though Jack did not shrug, Bitty could hear the shrug in his voice. 

“Jack, no. We’ve spent the whole day moving, I can get u---...”

But of course his boyfriend did not let him finish that sentence. Of course his boyfriend scooped him up, and flung him over his shoulder. Bitty tried to protest but his own laughter swallowed it up. 

“At least I get a nice view of your beautiful ass from up here,” Bitty said, after his laughter died down. Jack dumped him unceremoniously on the bed. Bitty rolled onto his back, looking up at his boyfriend, and oh, that face was just as nice as that ass. He reached up to tug Jack towards him and kiss him. Maybe they could act out some of their bed plans after all.

Bits had still been sleeping when Jack had returned from his morning run. He had tried to entice his boyfriend to come with him, kisses along the neck, but all he had received was an elbow in the gut and a muffled ‘go away!’ and so Jack had listened, climbing out of bed and grabbing his running gear to change in the bathroom so as not to disturb his sleeping beauty any further. 

Now that he was home again, and Bits was still asleep, Jack took his clean clothes and opted to take a shower in the guest room instead. Bits was somewhere in the pile of blankets on their bed, and it made Jack’s heart swell just thinking about it. He also decided, then and there, that Eric deserved breakfast in bed, and he hoped, by showering in the other bathroom that Bits would not hear and therefore, continue to sleep.

Jack loved to cook for Eric. His boyfriend might have better skills in the kitchen but Jack was no slouch in that department, and maybe it helped, having Eric to watch and learn from in the kitchen. He grabbed one of the aprons, and slid it on, before he set to work on breakfast. Soon, the kitchen was smelling pretty good, not Eric’s level, but still good. Coffee was going and he poured a glass for himself and one for Eric (sweetened just how he liked it even if it made Jack cringe to put that much creamer and sugar into the mug). Once the food was done, he found the breakfast trays, and plated the food, before carefully arranging the plates and mugs on the tray. 

He pushed the bedroom door open with his foot, grateful for the foresight not to shut it all the way earlier. On the bed, he saw that Eric was now sitting up. The comforter was wrapped around him like a burrito, and he was scrolling through his phone, a frown on his face. Eric was just looking up as Jack entered, and his expression changed, a pleased smile replacing that frown.

“Jack, you didn’t have to make me breakfast,” Bitty said, his voice still sounding more sleepy than not.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and carefully set the breakfast tray down on the bed. He leaned in for a kiss and Eric huffed, mumbling something about his morning breath, but he still gave a kiss. 

“I wanted to do this, bud. What’s going on?” Jack asked, slipping into bed beside his boyfriend, being careful not to upend their breakfast in the process. He grabbed his fork, watching Eric as he began to eat. 

Jack would never get tired of watching Eric. It did not matter what his boyfriend was doing or not doing. He could see the change in emotions on his face, as he glanced quickly down at his phone and then back up at Jack. Jack thought he saw some hope in his expression, but it was quickly drowned out by worry. And then, Eric was taking his own bite of food, and satisfaction danced across his face. Jack really liked that look the most. He waited a beat or two, before pressing again.

“Bits…” Jack reminded him, gently. 

There was a huff of breath before Bitty set down his fork and looked over at Jack. “I received a message about an interview. It is not for the job I really want, but it is in my top four.” 

“That is great!” Jack said, truly excited for his boyfriend, (Jack would never grow tired of thinking of Bits as his boyfriend and it really did not matter how long they had been together or the fact they lived together now. Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend!) but Bitty looked uncertain like he was trying not to get excited. 

Bitty had graduated some months ago, and he had immediately started looking for a job. Even with moving in with Jack and the whirlwind of another playoff run for the Falconers. Jack could see that the longer Bits went without finding a job, without getting bites on his resume, the more anxious he got. He came home to a kitchen filled with baked goods quite frequently. He had tried to tell Eric not to worry--but he knew that Eric wanted to work. That Eric did not want to depend on Jack and Jack’s money. Eric wanted to make his own way in the world, and Jack, he more than respected that. He understood it.  He could also understand the hesitancy too for excitement on Bits’ part. 

“I just… what if they end up not liking me after they meet me? I’m different on paper than I am in person,” Eric said, pushing at his food with his fork, before spearing it and plopping it into his mouth. 

“They will love you, Bud. You are more vibrant in person,” Jack offered, and Bitty rolled his eyes, leaning towards Jack to press a kiss to his nose. Jack grinned at that. 

“You have to say stuff like that because you are my boyfriend,” Bitty said, with a roll of his yes. 

“I don’t have to, Bits. I’m saying it because it is true,” Jack said, and then he nudged Eric gently with his shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me about this job, and I’ll tell you all the reasons you are qualified for it.”

He could see Bitty blushing faintly at that, and then Bitty ate some more food, and began to talk in animated detail about the job. Jack listened, he really did, even if he sometimes got lost in the way Bits’ eyes lit up his whole face as he talked. He kept a running list in his head of what made Eric qualified for the job, eager to show his boyfriend just how lucky the place would be to have him. 

Hockey season was a few short weeks away. It meant that Jack’s routine had kicked into high gear once more with practices, conditioning, and preseason games. Eric sometimes felt like they were two ships passing in the night, but at least they lived together now. Jack was not the only busy one. Eric had gotten a job! It was far from his dream job, but there was the potential for growth, and it was padding out his resume. He liked the challenge of his work, he liked his coworkers too. It was nice having somewhere to be and feeling a little like he was actually contributing financially to the household. It was nice being busy when Jack was so busy too. 

Eric had gotten home earlier than usual today and he decided to use that additional time to make Jack dinner. Homemade chicken tenders with healthy sides. He was also going to bake a pie even though he knew Jack would only allow himself one piece of it. 

He was dancing and swaying his hips to the music he had playing over the bluetooth speakers in the kitchen when Jack came home. Dinner was finished and Bitty had been in the process of setting the table, sashaying his hips as he moved along. He looked up from the plate he had just finished piling with food when he noticed his boyfriend just staring at him.

“Jack!” Bitty said, grateful he had not jumped or dropped the plate. His heart thudding hard in his chest after that scare. His boyfriend at least managed to look sufficiently sheepish.

“Sorry, Bits. I like watching you dance,” Jack said, shrugging his shoulders and Bitty hated that his cheeks turned red at that. It did not matter how long he and Jack were together, he doubted he would ever stop blushing around that boy.

“Why don’t you clean up and I’ll finish setting the table,” Bits said, moving towards the table. If he exaggerated the movement of his hips some, well, that was just fair play. He could feel Jack’s eyes tracking him as he moved and he could not help the grin that flitted across his face. 

“It smells and looks delicious,” Jack said as he headed towards their bedroom to clean up. 

Bitty just hummed, pleased with himself. 

Jack took a quick shower and was back, his hair damp still, and in lounge pants that really did not leave much to the imagination. Eric found himself swallowing, Jack could be so horribly unfair sometimes! 

And if the two of them played with each other’s feet underneath the table, if they had hardly finished eating the meal before retiring to their bedroom in a stumbling fashion owing to the kissing, well that was okay. 

It was better than okay. 

Jack could hear the music playing faintly from inside the condo as he got closer. A smile played across his lips as he thought about what Bits might be doing. Jack could picture him baking in the kitchen, hips moving just slightly to the music as he baked. Or maybe Bits would be having a private dance party, Jack had walked in on a few of those and he had been equal parts guilty for startling Bitty so much that he stopped and amused by how red his boyfriend’s face had gotten. 

He entered the condo and shrugged off his bag. He crept into the kitchen because even if he always felt a little bad about startling Eric, that would never stop him from sneaking up on him. There was no Eric in the kitchen, the music he realized, was coming from the bedroom. 

Jack crept, doing his best to be as quiet as a mouse, towards their room. The door was open and so he stood in the doorway, watching Eric as he put away laundry. He was just in a pair of boxers, his hips moving in time to the music, and occasionally, he would dance away from the pile of folded clothes to put something away before dancing back to grab another pile to put away.

Jack watched for a few seconds before the guilt of just standing there and not helping overcame his desire to just watch his boyfriend dance and move. 

“Need help, Bits?” Jack asked, and Bitty jumped, dropping the pile of shorts he had in his hand. He spun on the spot, glaring over at Jack but there was no real heat in the look. Jack flashed what he hoped was an innocent smile.

“I am almost done but if you want to help, I won’t stop you.” Bits said, and Jack stepped further into the room. He tugged off his shirt along the way, and did his best to do a shimmy out of his pants. Eric was watching him with a raised brow, and amusement. 

“What?” Jack asked, innocently. Then he exaggeratedly moved his hips to the music, failing to match the beat at all, but getting a laugh from from Bitty which had been his only real goal. He would never tire of the sound of Bits’ laugh. Especially if he was the cause of it.

“You are such a dork,” Bitty said, his voice and eyes so full of love. 

Jack wrapped his arms around Eric, pulling him close and then kissing him. Eric seemed to metl into him and the kiss. Jack let his hands wander south and then Eric was pulling away, placing his own hands on Jack’s chest and looking up at him.

“You are supposed to be helping me, Mr. Zimmermann, not distracting me!” 

It was Jack’s turn to laugh and he let go of his boyfriend, noting the briefest of pouts on Bits’ place.

“Okay, okay. Laundry first,” Jack said, and he behaved himself until the very last sock was put away. 

#bittyjack #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

[astrogone]

​Spots to Kiss: A Kiss on the Jawline ( @godbanes​​ ) — Donovan / Jack

“Please?”

                                       “No.”

“Pretty please?”

                                       “No.”

“P—”                                        “I WILL leave you.”

A pathetic whine escapes from Jack as he practically clings onto Donovan’s leg that is about to leave his sight, trying not to to get his bruised jawline contacted with the other’s knee. Although there is no blood on him from the severe cuts, the sharp pain still dwells through pulsing, torn flesh. He doesn’t think Donovan would let him sit this close to him if he was stained with blood. Or even a speck of dirt. Yet it seems like asking him for a kiss on his little, bitty boo boo after he had hurt himself climbing over the playground is still too much for him.

Always the dirty damned Jack you are, Donovan would say. Jack takes that title with pride because that is all he is; he would not know himself in any other ways. Though when he sees that particular dark gleam across Donovan’s eyes during this amusing night, he feels joyful, thinking that he appreciates him like that anyway.

“Jack states that Donovan is mean,” he huffs.

Donovan bears a fake offended look. “Ouch, I’m hurt,” he says sarcastically. “Come up with a better insult than that and I’ll stay.”

Jack tilts his head, thinking. Then smirks. “Jack insults him about how Jack is a better kisser than him.”

A roll of eyes is given— so hard, someone else may be the one bleeding tonight. “Nice try, Jack, I’m never going to kiss your stupid, little injury. How old are you? Three?”

“Ummm... Jack doesn’t rem—”

“It’s a rhetorical question, oh my God.”

“Jack! Wants! Just! One! Kiss! From! Donovan!” Jack jumps in his seat as he emphasizes every single one of his word. Wincing each time he lands and causes the pain to spread deeper than before.

“The only thing you’ll get from me is a punch if you keep asking me for that,” Donovan retorts.

“Jack asks how is that even better for Donovan? That just makes Jack want him to kiss his jawline more then—” “Okay, I’m going, goodnight.”

“WAAIIIITTTTT!” Jack clings onto two legs now. Donovan shoves him off, but is waiting for his next words. Impatiently, of course. “Jack promises he will never talk about it, so... please? Just a one second kiss to make Jack feel better?” He attempts to pull off a puppy look on Donovan, shiny eyes and head tilted and all. Donovan scoffs, throwing his cigarette down and stomping on it, as if that is an equivalent to beating Jack up for having to be a complete weird baby about this whole situation to him.

“Fine, fine, fine. I’m only doing this just because I know you’ll never shut up about this.” The last part could be said either to Jack or himself, though it can be both, Jack thinks. He doesn’t plan to dwell over that thought for too long when, at last! He is finally getting a kiss! Jack leans himself closer to Donovan and it is only a bare brush his jawline gets from him. Even though Donovan had truly taken his words with giving him a one second kiss, the disappointment still burns in him for the kiss lasting too soon. In a blink of an eye and nothing feels right. It is too much like a breeze during the gentle times, or a feather ticking on nose. Nothing about it screams Donovan.

Knowing him though, with sharp grins and a heavy heart, Jack should had known this would happen.

Yet hope prevails all.

“You’re thinking too loud,” mutters Donovan, shaking Jack’s shoulder to take him back to the reality. Jack almost doesn’t want to go back, but he still listens to him because it’s Donovan. “Let’s go home, it’s getting cold here.”

Jack slowly nods, standing up from the bench, his knees nearly buckling as the world sadly sways beneath his feet. He comes to realize that he doesn’t feel any better after all of this. “Okay.” Strangely, for once, he’s quiet, but Donovan doesn’t acknowledge it. Certainly not when he takes another cigarette from his pocket and lights it, as if he’s burning the phantom kiss on his lips, before he walks away, not waiting for Jack to follow him. Donovan knows what Jack has been thinking, and Jack knows that he will only ignore his thoughts of wanting more from him. More of him.

The only times Jack does get that desire is when they are either drunk or high, but he can’t appreciate Donovan properly. He can’t when Donovan doesn’t let him— want him to.

Even when it hurts, he still follows Donovan because he loves him too much.

#( UUHH THIS ENDED UP PRETTY ANGSTY HSHDJSJSJ ;_; ) #( I did noticed how the only times they would kiss are when they’re drunk [ or high from Donovan’s end ] ) #( and I wanna play around the concept of when they’re NOT and ) #( of course it had to be angsty ahdhsJSNS DJJD FCKU ;A; ) #˚* ੈ✧ ‧ ( answers . ) you know i'll take my heart clean apart ; if it helps yours beat #˚* ੈ✧ ‧ ( queue . ) maybe i’ve done enough #( * jack . ) #donovan tag. #godsbane

[readbeneaththelines]

The Bough That Broke Pt. 10

Synopsis: Jin is injured from an avoidable accident, leaving him partially paralyzed from the waist down. Reader is the nurse that is hired to take care of him once he gets back to the dorms and begins the physically and emotionally painful road to recovery. Will she have what it takes to spark determination in him to get back on the stage?

Characters: Idol!Jin x Nurse!Reader

Genre: Whump, Angst, Itty Bittyamount of crack, itty bitty amount of fluff, maybeeeeeee some smut

Warnings: Angst, talk of being bullied, yeah, just a bit of angst

Word Count: 2184

The days passed into weeks. You would occasionally stay over night, finding that you really did enjoy the company of the guys when the alternative was sitting at home alone. You always slept on the couch, much to the displeasure of seven grow men telling you to take one of their beds instead.

Therapy was coming along splendidly, Jack getting Jin to the point of standing on his feet with assistance for up to thirty minutes. You were there for every little, and giant, milestone that Jin reached. You were also there for the aftermath. The aching of his arms and shoulders for supporting a majority of his weight, the neuropathic pain he felt when the feeling started to return to his legs, and the back pain from where the lighting fixture fell on him. It was you that massaged the pain away, gave him his pain medicine when you were able to convince him that he needed it to just take the edge off so he could rest. 

For the most part, Jin was fairly upbeat through all of it. But. There were those days. Those days that he was frustrated and angry. THe days when he wanted to give up because the pain was too much to bear.It was on those days that you had to struggle not to yell back at him when he snapped at you. It was on those days that you had to take a deep breath and walk away, collect your thoughts and composure, and return with a sigh. It was on those days that you had to remind him of his goal. The goal to take that first step again.

“Jin. I swear! If you want to give up, then go ahead. Stay in that chair for the rest of your life. Throw every damn thing you have worked so hard for right out the window. But, I will be damned if I let you do it on my watch. So, you either take a deep breath and lets go for it one more time, or you just say the word and I’m done. I’ll will walk out that door and never come back.”

Today was one of the days when you had had just about enough. He was tired, you knew that much, but he was almost there. He was fighting you tooth and nail, refusing to go to the therapy center and start working on taking just one step.

“Fine! Then go ahead and leave. I’m tired. I just want a day to sit around and do nothing for crying out loud, and you won’t even give me that! I bet when you were in my shoes, you begged for a day off too and got it when ever you wanted it!” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had crossed a line with you. The look of utter shock on your face spoke volumes when your words failed to form on your lips. Then the tears threatened to spill over. In a split second, his expression went from one of angerto one of sorrow. 

You bowed your head, shaking it slightly to fight back the tears. If only he knew the hell you went through in therapy. If he only knew that you struggled every fucking day, never taking a day off, just to get to where you are at this very moment. The pain you still had to fight some nights when you had to pick him up or support him when you helped him. If he could only read your mind, he would know the hurt, the emotional and physical hurt, you felt when he said those words.

“Y/N.I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t think.”

“Shut up, just shut up,Kim Seokjin. You don’t know a thing about what I went through. I was barely past being a kid when I went through this. I spent every day, every single day, pushing myself, so that I wouldn’t get made fun of at school. I cried every single night from the aches and pains. But, I got up the next day and did it all over again. I still get up every single morning, do my therapy, so that I will be able to help you. So don’t you dare say anything about me getting to take a break, because I don’t.” 

It wasn’t until you saw Jin looking at you, his head tilted slightly to the right, that you realized you were crying. You quickly swiped the back of your hand across your cheeks, brushing the still cascading tears away. You turned your back to him, and headed to the kitchen. You ran head first into Namjoon, who was standing in the entrance. His hands grasped your shoulders to keep you from falling backwards, You looked up at him, uttering a soft ‘thank you’. 

“I have to leave right now. Tell Jin that he is getting his break today. He needs to think, and so do I. Call me if he decides he wants to really continue..” 

Namjoon gave your shoulders a quick squeeze before speaking to you in his kind and tender voice.

“I’m sorry that he hurt you. I understand how you both are frustrated and tired. Please, go home and rest. From what I overheard, you need it just as much as he does, if not more. I will call you later and check in.” 

That being said, he walked you to the door and watched you leave. Hethen turned to Jin who sat on the couch with a defeated look on his face.

“You may have just messed up the best thing that has ever happened to you, you realize that?” Namjoon asked Jin. 

Jin nodded,running his fingers through his tousled hair in frustration. Groaning out loud as the gravity of his actions settled in his gut.

“Is she gone for good?” Jin asked.

“That is up to you. You have to decide if you really want to go on with therapy, or if you are complacent with where you are right now. If you want to keep going, you are going to have to convince her that you mean it. Only you can do that.” Namjoon patted Jin’s back as he walked past him. 

Jin moved himself from the couch to his chair, wheeling himself to his room. He shut the door with a bit more force than necessary, and set about changing his clothes for the night. It was usually about this time you were working the knots out of his shoulders after the long day, and you helped him get ready for his shower, even though you both knew he could do it all by himself at this point. Instead, here he was, tense and worked up still from the argument. He recalled the look on your face, the tears as they fell when you told him that you fought so hard all because you were bullied at school. You were right, he didn’t know anything about what you went through, but you knew what he was going through, because you had been there. His guilt ate at him as he changed, the pang of hurt in his heart confusing him even more so. Yes, he had said harsh things, but he had argued with you before, and everything worked out. But this time. This time it was different. This time, he hurt you and it made his heart ache. He wan’t sure why your pain affected him this way. True, you two had grown close over the last several weeks, a friendship of sorts forming between the seven of them and you. He hated feeling this way, knowing that he was the cause of your suffering right now. 

He reached for his phone, scrolling through the contacts for your number. He tapped it, then hit send, holding it to his hear as it rang. When you didn’t answer, he began to worry a bit. You always answered after the first few rings. He hit redial, listened, then left a message when your voicemail picked up. 

“Y/N, it Jin. Of course you know it’s me,sorry. I, umm, I just wanted to apologize again for earlier. I was tired, and I know that it’s not an excuse for what I said, but I can’t take it back now. I don’t want to give up. If you could do it, then I know I can. Please don’t stop coming around. I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for everything you’ve done. Please, just come back.” 

He hung up, throwing the phone onto his bed. Once he was changed, he went back into the main room, grabbed a game controller and focused on a game with Taehyung and Jungkook. 

You sat on the park bench, eating a take out dinner. You let your phone ring when you saw his name, the hurt still a bit raw. You watched as he name popped up on the screen again, only to go blank as your voicemail picked up. You waited before listening to it, watching the river flow by at a peaceful pace. You knew that just below the calm surface, the water was a torrent of chaos. The swirling current a mirror of the feelings tumbling inside you. Normally, you wouldn’t be this affected by a patients action. But with Jin, it was different. You had formed a bond with him, as you had with the other six guys that supported you as much as they supported Jin. So why did his lashing out at you hurt you so much? 

You took a steadying breath, picked up your phone, and listened to his message. You could hear the sadness and guilt in his voice.

Please, just come back.

Before it registered what you were doing, you were back in your car, heading for the dorm. You couldn’t, for the life of you, figure out why you were walking back down the sidewalk to the door. You watched your hand knock on the door, only to question why it was doing it in the first place. Yoongi was the one to answer the door, a bewildered look gracing his normally stoic expression.

“Don’t ask. I don’t know either.” was all you said as you entered the main room. 

Jin looked up, only to freeze mid game. Taehyung was about to complain when he noticed you standing there, then he smacked Jungkook’s shoulder. They looked at you then at Jin, rose from the couch and headed to one of the other rooms on the other side of the dorm. Within seconds, everyone was gone, leaving you and Jin alone. He sat up straight, his forearms resting on his thighs as his fingers laced together. He cleared his throat to speak, but you stopped him.

“Don’t say anything, just listen to me.”  You adjusted your stance, not sure of how you were going to word your thoughts. If you took another step forward, you knew you would start crying again, unsure of why you felt on the verge of tears. 

“I will come back on one condition. You never speak to me like that again. I understand you are tired and that you don’t think you can take one more second of the hell you are going through. But you can, I am sure of that. You are strong and determined, so you are not allowed to give up. If it gets to be too much for you, talk to me, or talk to someone. But you will not talk down to me again. If you do, then I will walk out of that door and you will never see me again. I will stand by your side as long as you need me to, but I will be gone as fast as a shooting star if you ever hurt my feelings like that again, do you understand?”

jIn simply nodded, his own eyes wet with tears that clung to his lashes. How he desperately wanted to stand up, walk to you, and hug away your pain. If there was ever a reason to walk again, this was going to be his reason. To stand up and give you a proper apology and hug. 

“I understand. I am so, so sorry, Y/N. I was stupid and wrong. I will promise to never do that again. I’ll do what ever you say, with as little complaining as possible, deal?” And there it was. That adorable grin that made your anger melt in an instant. You could feel your own smile growing in response to his charismatic charm.

“Deal. Now I think I forgot something before I left earlier.” You made your way to the couch, sat down beside him and began Jin’s favorite part of the day, your magic fingers working the kinks out of his tired and aching muscles. By the time you were done, you were both once again laughing and talking, but the remenants of earlier still lingered in the back of your minds.

@beautifulseoulliar  @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi @holy-yoongi @trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570​ @jeontaes-world​ @mtgforall​

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@flora-jimin

#kim seokjin #bts seokjin #jin angst #jin x reader #Jin Whump

[srprincess]

Fictober Prompt 5 - “I might just kiss you”

fandom: check please

part 8 of the spookydooAU

He could do this.

Easy as anything.

Just a few days of socialization.

Show them around, maybe hold a thing that dings when there’s stuff.

Which it wouldn't. Probably.

And if he helped them, then he would at least know where they were.

No more surprise public humiliation, big bonus.

This would be fine.

Better than.

What's the worst that could happen?

 He instantly regretted even thinking that last part.

Too late now, there went the doorbell.

He plastered on a smile, hoping his eyes didn't look as wild as they felt, and opened the door.

”Hi,” Will paused with a look at the group. All nine of them. He took a deep breath and asked, ”Would you like to come in?”

 Actually letting them in felt like the most terrifying thing he'd ever done.

 Obviously on ’best behavior’ the group filed quietly along behind him into the kitchen, filling every available seat and surface. Will was surprised by how it felt more comfortable than crowded.  

 ”This one smells even better than the last one.” Will said appreciatively as he set the pie on his counter. ”How’d you manage to make something like this in a hotel room?” He didn't much, hardly at all, but knew from even that little experience that you were generally lucky to get even a microwave, let alone a stove.  

”Oh, we're not staying there, we got a little place in town.” Bitty answered.

Jack added, ”We learned better than to rent a place without kitchen access years ago, and the inn wasn't willing to let him in theirs.”

”Something about ’health codes’ and ’safety violations’, nonsense,” Bitty huffed, with finger quotes and a dramatic eye roll.

”You can consider me selfishly grateful you found a suitable place in town then.” Will said, pushing down the desire to dig in immediately, because while he was selfish enough to not want to share he had raised well enough to not eat in front of guests.

Still trying to be a half-decent host, Will did ask if he could get them anything to drink, coffee, tea or whatever. Jack tried to say they were fine, but when a whimper came from the tall girl slumped over the table in the breakfast nook Will decided to start a pot of coffee anyway. There was a bit of awkward small talk as they waited for it to brew. When it was done, Will pulled a few mugs off the shelf for anyone to grab, but filled one up and took it straight over to the table.

”Bless you,” she whispered, flipping her sunglasses to the top of her head before draining half the mug in a single sip.

”Farmer had a rough night trying to keep up-” started the big blond guy, loudly. Holster, Will reminded himself. He was beginning to think the guy only had one volume setting. Eleven.

”Shhhh! Less you, more quiet,” the guy who had been buried under the display with Derek said.

”Thanks, babe” Farmer said, into what remained of the cup of coffee.

 Furthering the ’good host’ efforts, and in a rusty attempt to be friendly, Will said to the group, ”Okay, so you all know my name.” Adding in a mutter, ”thank you tourism office. I guess. Let me see if I have yours all straight,” and then he made his way around the room.

”Bitty, Jack,” he started with the two that seemed to be the leaders of the group, if they had such a thing. They both nodded.

”Shitty, umm Lardo?” he cringed on the second name because every part of him rebelled against calling her that. He got a thumbs-up back though, and he continued on.

”Holster and, I think I heard someone say, Ransom?” Two more nods.

”And Farmer with- sorry I don't think I caught yours?” Will faltered.

”Chowder,” came the answer.

”Which leaves Derek, ” Will finished.

”Oooo! He real named you, dude!” Chowder teased.

”Sorry, Nursey,” Will corrected. ”It’s just- what's with all the nicknames, anyway?”

There was a chorus of simultaneous answers - School, sports, college, hockey.

 Will nodded like he had an idea what any of those things were like. He didn't often feel like he’d missed out, staying behind here, but sometimes...he wondered what it would be like to have a close-knit group of friends like these. Might be nice, strange nicknames aside.

 ”I’m still working on yours,” Shitty said. ”I’m leaning toward Dex.”

”Do I get a say in this?”

In unison, like some sort of creepy hive mind, ”No.”

Three pots of coffee later, with a sink full of rinsed mugs and a lull in the conversation, Jack said, ”So, um, I guess we should be going? Let you get to,” he made some vague hand gesture at the room.

 Will knew this was his last chance. Either to say goodbye and let them go - Return to his quiet, solitary, week. Or to offer up his knowledge and help - Maybe feel part of something for a change.

It was weird. He never felt lonely once before he had been forced into their company. It had only been a couple days since, but as he looked around the room he realized - he wasn't sure he wanted to go back. Not yet anyway.

  ”Actually, did you still need help with, you know, the wooooooo stuff?” Will asked, quickly before he could talk himself out of the offer.

”’Wooooooo stuff’ being?” Ransom asked, copying Will’s odd hand motions.

”That means ghost things, ” Nursey explained.

”Is this a trick?” Bitty asked. ”You really want in?”

”Yes?” Will tried to answer confident, but it still came out more as a question.

”So, you mean we can look around your property?” Jack questioned.

”No,” Will started, then seeing their looks of confusion clarified quickly, ”I mean you can. But here’s not where you really want to be.”

”But the pamphlet said-”

Will interrupted Chowder with a wave of his hand, ”Yeah, that's 90% nonsense. I know where you actually need to be. And even if it's not the right time of year for what you're thinking to do, if you believe the stories-”

”Do you?” Lardo stopped Will to ask.

”Do I what?”

”Believe the stories,”

”Well, I don’t not believe in them,” Will said, sharing a secret smile with Derek. No, Nursey. His friends called him that, maybe he should too? I mean they were getting to be friends, right? Kind of?  

”An open mind, I can dig it,” Lardo declared approvingly. ”Carry on.”

 ”Anyways, as I was saying, the stories would all have you here later than you are, but I'll help best I can now. If you want, that is. Just, ya know, don't take it too hard if you don't find what you're looking for?”

Bitty with the question this time, ”Why the change of heart?”

”Community service?”

”I know we basically just met, but sounds fake.” Chowder shot back, with the rest giving equally dubious looks.

 Will sighed. ”Okay. So maybe someone pointed out that taking a break from being a shut-in might be good for me.”

“Now that tracks.” Nursey added, with a bump to Will’s shoulder, ”aaaand you like us.”

”I wouldn't go that far.” Will denied, weakly even to his own ears.

Nursey gave a hugely put on pout.

”Maybe you're starting to grow on me.” Will allowed. When he got a hopeful smile back, he added with a smirk, ”like a fungus.”

”Nah, you like us, just admit it.” Nursey pushed.

”Invasive parasitic fungi,” Will insisted, but his blushing smile gave him away. Damn his glass face.

Jack spoke up, reminding Will there was an entire room full of other people, ”You really mean it? You'll help?”

”I do, yeah.” God help me, he added silently to himself.

  “I might just kiss you for this, you beautiful ginger fuck.”

Will looked pained as Shitty tackled him into a tight full-body hug.

“Don’t make me regret this. That’s all I ask. Well, not all-”

 Will went on to list some ground rules, which actually boiled down to two main things. First, no one explores the shore road alone after dark. No exceptions. Second, no random trespassing. He would let them know where was okay to go, and that was that. No lurking around people’s homes without permission. That one directed mostly at Nursey, who, in his defense, did look apologetic. They talked out a plan, deciding everyone should rest up for a couple hours in anticipation of the all-nighter to come. Then the group would gather their materials, pick up some pizza and meet back at Will’s for dinner. With them supplying dinner, he would supply the game plan for the rest of the night. Depending on how things went, well, they play anything beyond that by ear.

 All in all, everyone felt good about where they stood. Even, to his own surprise, Will.

He wasn't sure he wanted to give his neighbor the satisfaction of telling her, but he was cautiously optimistic about the night to come.

#fictober19 #omgcp #nurseydex #gangs all here #spookydoo au #dex asks himself if this is what having friends is like

[leons-ass-gives-me-life]

Whumptober Day 21 - Laced Drink

I’ve been waiting for this prompt since the list first came out. I knew, I just KNEW I could do something great for it and damn and I proud of what I came up with! 

Warning: Attempted Rape

~~~~

Rhys just wants to have a fun night out with friends.

Can nothing go right in his personal life?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Since becoming Handsome Jack’s PA, Rhys had been swamped by work, unable to find much time to spend with Vaughn and Yvette. As much as he enjoyed being able to work directly alongside his hero, Rhys missed his friends.

So, when Jack told him he had earned a night off, Rhys didn’t hesitate to Echo Vaughn and Yvette. Plans for a night out at the club were made and soon Rhys was back at his apartment, swapping out his pristine work clothes for a more relaxed pair of jeans, sneakers, and a navy button-up.

Vaughn and Yvette beat him there of course and had already ordered the first round of drinks. Sliding into his spot at the booth they chose, Rhys grinned at his friends, “Bro, Vet, how you guys been?” He grabbed the beer Vaughn passed him and immediately took a swig, relishing in the feeling of the alcohol slithering down his throat. 

It’d been too long since he last had a drink, his work too important to get anything stronger than coffee. The first round went by fast, the trio settling back into their old rhythm with ease. Vaughn was the first to tap out, reluctantly heading home with the explanation that he had to go into the office early the next morning.

Rhys and Yvette drank more wildly without “Mom Friend” Vaughn there to keep them in check. By midnight they were definitely on the stronger side of buzzed, unable to contain their giggles as they downed glass after glass. 1 AM was just around the corner when Yvette finally left the club, patting Rhys on the shoulder and telling him to, “Be safe, idiot.” on her way out.

Buzzed or not Rhys never enjoyed drinking alone, especially holed up in a secluded booth. Standing on shaky legs, he more or less smoothly made his way to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stools and flagging down the bartender. “One Handsome Jack Me Up. Extra lemons.”

There was a chuckle at his side and Rhys glanced over to see a stunningly handsome man smiling at him. He was holding a half-empty beer in his hands and shifted subtly to move a bit closer to Rhys. “Not many people can handle one of those so late into the night.” Leaning in closer, he looked at Rhys through dark lashes, “What’s your name, gorgeous? Or should I just keep calling you, gorgeous?”

Giggling nervously, Rhys rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head a bit to hide the growing blush on his cheeks, “R-Rhys...w-what about you?” The bartender set his drink down and he took a sip of it to help calm himself down. 

Humming in thought, the man inched in closer, sliding a hand down Rhys’ flesh arm and leaning in to whisper in his ear, blocking the company man’s view of his drink. “You can call me, daddy, gorgeous.”

Shuddering, Rhys jerked back and lifted his drink to quivering lips, “Y-Y’know I’m good...probably should be heading home anyways..my boss will want me back at work early tomorrow..n-nice meeting you!” Downing the rest of the drink in a few quick gulps, Rhys staggered to his feet, tossing a, “Put it on Vaughn’s tab!” over his shoulder as he stumbled to the door.

He barely made it outside before a wave of vertigo washed over him, making the cyborg stumble and lean hard against the wall to stay upright. What the hell? I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t be this drunk..why..I can’t...I can’t feel my legs..

Slumping forward, Rhys felt hands grasp him and pulled an arm up over someone’s tall shoulder, helping him stumble forward. “Wh-what? Who-who’s there?” The world was fading in and out, but a familiar chuckle rumbling in his ear broke Rhys out of his stupor. 

“Don’t worry, gorgeous. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

No..no NO! Let GO!! Jerking out of the man’s grasp, Rhys tried to run but his legs refused to cooperate, knees buckling and sending him crashing to the ground. Head slamming hard into the floor, Rhys swore he could feel something crack as he moaned in pain, rolling onto his stomach and trying weakly to drag himself away. 

Footsteps thundered behind him, sounding louder than they should to his drug-addled brain. A hand grasped his ankle, pulling Rhys back as he cried out and struggled. In an act of desperation, he activated his Echo-eye, sending a frantic message to the only person he could think of before something slammed into the back of his head, knocking him unconscious.

--

Consciousness came back to Rhys slowly. First, he felt the soft sheets underneath him, then the cool air chilling his bare skin...bare skin! Eyes shooting open, Rhys twisted weakly against the rough ropes binding his hands above his head and his feet to the footboard of the bed. 

“Hello!” He cried out, arching up and thrashing wildly, rage starting to replace fear, “Let me go dammit!! Let me go!!” Familiar footsteps sounded outside the room, Rhys’ struggles stilling as the door was thrown open, the man from the club striding in with an all too gleeful smile on his face.

“Rhys! Glad to see you’re awake, gorgeous!” He barely bothered to kick his shoes off, the bed dipping under his weight as he crawled on top of Rhys. Eyes wide and terrified once more, Rhys squirmed beneath him, realizing with a start exactly what the man had planned. “No no no NO!! Let me go, please! I-I’m Handsome Jack’s PA! I-I can p-pay you? Or s-someth-thing? P-please just d-d-don’t do this..”

Fingers caressed his chest, tracing the blue ink of his tattoo all the way down his arm, Rhys shuddering at the warm touch, “P-please…” Laughing softly, all of the kind charm from the night before was gone as the man sunk longer, pressing harsh biting kisses to Rhys’ throat, not even acknowledging the younger’s begging.

Oh god oh god this can’t be happening this caN’T BE HAPPENING!!!

Wandering fingers brushed over the button of his jeans and Rhys squeezed his eyes shut tight, steeling himself for what he knew would come next. Those fingers delved in, the tips just skimming over the waistband of his boxers when-

BANG

Rhys screamed, the man’s head exploding into itty bitty pieces above him. Eyes flying up and around the room as the body dropped onto his chest, Rhys could’ve cried when he spotted his savior.

Handsome goddamn Jack himself was striding across the room, yanking the dead body off Rhys with ease. The CEO was uncharacteristically silent as he freed Rhys’ hands and feet, only speaking when he kneeled in front of his stunned PA, “Rhys…” One big hand reached out, gently wiping away his tears and brushing the hair out of his eyes, “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you much, did he? I got here in time?”

Rhys gave him a small nod, cybernetic hand coming up to keep Jack’s hand where it was, pressed against his cheek. “I-I’m okay, Jack...he...he got close but...but you made it…” As the realization hit of how close he had come to being raped, Rhys’ tears started anew and he threw himself into Jack’s arms. The older man accepted the hug without hesitation, holding Rhys close and stroking his back to comfort him as best he could.

“It’s okay, Rhysie. It’s okay, I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone touch you like that ever again I promise. You’re safe now, Rhys. You’re safe…”

Shaking with the force of his sobs, Rhys hid his face in Jack’s neck, stuttering and melting into the warmth of the embrace. “Th-thank you, Jack..”

“Thank you…”

“Always, kiddo.”

#Whumptober #Whumptober 2019 #whumptober day 21 #laced drink #Rhack #whump #attempted rape #tw: rape #kidnapping #tw: drugging #tied up #restrained #pinned down #rescued #Jack to the rescue #sobbing #comfort #h/c #emotional h/c #dragged away #knocked unconscious #assaulted #Borderlands #Handsome Jack #Rhys #Rhys strongfork #rhys the company man #PA!Rhys

[justlookfrightened]

NHL!Jack

Jack and Bitty finally got together, in the middle of Jack’s playoffs and Bitty's decision to move to Houston. Now what?

Continuation of NHL!Bitty from Jack's POV. Rating may change in later chapters. Not beta'd, so let me know about errors that need to be corrected! 

Also on AO3   or Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5   Part 6    Part 7

The first thing Jack was aware of was the pounding.

It wasn’t very near, but not far enough to be outside his condo either.

The next thing he became aware of was that this wasn’t his condo.

The light was all wrong, for one, and there was a crack across the ceiling and the walls were a dingy blue.

The bed was too lumpy and far too narrow -- and far too occupied. The man wedged in next to Jack was curled on his side, his firm, round backside pressed against Jack’s hip.

Jack very much wanted to investigate that, but a voice was added to the pounding.

“Bitty! Yo, Bits!”

Bitty. Eric Bittle, the man currently squirming his way to consciousness, his bottom rubbing delightfully against Jack.

More pounding.

“I know you haven’t gone back to Georgia yet!”

Bitty groaned.

“Shitty,” he said.

“What?” Jack said.

More pounding. More yelling.

“I see that monstrosity you call a truck! Don’t make me climb up and come in through the reading room!”

Now Bitty was up and out of bed. He crossed the floor in two steps and threw the window open.

“Shitty!” Bitty yelled. “Some people are sleeping! Give me a minute. I’ll be right down.”

Bitty slammed the window closed and turned back around. Jack had enjoyed the glimpse of Bitty leaning out the window, dressed in nothing but red form-fitting boxer briefs. The view from the front was equally appealing, but it didn’t sound like Jack was going to have the opportunity to do any more than look.

“I’m sorry,” Bitty said. “That’s my friend Shitty. I texted him last night to let him know I was in town. I didn’t expect him to show up at --” Bitty picked up his phone and looked at it “ -- 10:30 in the morning.”

10:30. Jack was due at the practice facility at noon, and he hadn’t even been home to change.

“Crisse. I have to get going,” Jack said.

“Not without breakfast,” Bitty said. “Please?”

“But your friend. Shitty? Really?”

“Really,” Bitty said. “He might be loud and obnoxious, but there’s no one I trust more. I mean, if we’re going to -- If you wanted to --”

Bitty stopped, biting his lip, not quite looking at Jack.

Jack couldn’t leave him uncertain.

“I meant everything I said last night. Of course I want to,” Jack said, pushing the sheet back and swinging his feet to the floor. “Just, maybe the best way to meet your friends isn’t in my underwear?”

Bitty giggled, and that was a sound Jack could definitely get used to.

“If there’s anyone you could meet in your underwear, it’s Shitty,” Bitty said, tugging a T-shirt over his head and pulling on shorts while he said it. “But if you want to shower, you can use the bathroom in there.”

Bitty opened a door, revealing a small bathroom that had a door at the other end, presumably leading to another bedroom.

“There should be a new toothbrush in the second drawer,” Bitty said. “And the shampoo and stuff is mine, so feel free to use whatever you need. I’ll get Shitty to take me to the Murder Stop ‘n’ Shop to get stuff for breakfast. No food allergies?”

“No,” Jack said. “My nutrition plan --”

“Calls for lots of protein, unrefined carbs and healthy fats,” Bitty said. “I know. That’s why I’m not just making pancakes. We’ll be back in 15 minutes and breakfast will be ready in 45. Does that work for you?”

“Uh, sure,” Jack said.

Bitty might be small, might be a rookie, but he was going to be a force to be reckoned with, Jack thought.

He was still grinning as he stripped off his own boxer briefs and stepped under the shower spray.

****************************************

Music was coming from the kitchen when Jack descended the stairs 15 minutes later, wearing the trousers from his suit and the shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He’d washed with Bitty’s things, and he could smell the fresh citrus scent that clung to his skin and hair. It smelled almost like Bitty, but not quite.

He came around the corner to see Bitty, facing away from him, stirring something in a pan on the stove. Onion, by the aroma, and probably peppers. Bitty was wearing the same shorts he pulled on upstairs -- blue, and barely long enough to cover his underwear. His feet were in sneakers, apparently without socks, and it looked like his legs went on for days in between.

His hips swung a bit to the music as he pulled a slice of pepper -- yes, Jack was right -- from the pan to test it for doneness and asked, “So what are you going to do after graduation? You and Lardo have plans?”

That’s when Jack noticed the man sitting at the table -- sitting in the same chair Jack sat in last night when Bitty came and sat on his lap and kissed him. The man had clearly noticed him -- he was watching him watch Bitty with something like amusement.

Shitty -- this had to be Shitty, with shaggy hair and a droopy mustache and a Wonder Woman crop top -- answered Bitty’s question instead of giving Jack away. “I’d go to the beach for a while to study, but it’s summer, so my whole family will be in and out. I think maybe we’ll take some time to find a new place, far from Harvard, that can be our apartment, and I’ll hole myself up there. The bar exam’s at the end of July, but once I take it, I can start work full-time.”

He paused and looked at Jack, which drew Bitty’s eyes to him as well.

“Morning, Bitty,” Jack said. “It smells great in here.”

To Shitty, he extended a hand and said, “I’m Jack.”

Shitty stood to shake hands and said, “Shitty Knight, former resident of this decrepit house and soon-to-be lawyer working in the areas of employment law, diversity and discrimination and educational opportunity.”

“That sounds like a lot to focus on,” Jack said.

Shitty shrugged. “The organization I hired on with works in all those areas. I’m sure I’ll end up working more in one than the others.”

“Shitty was a junior when I was a freshman,” Bitty said. “He was the first real person I ever came out to.”

“Real person?” Jack asked.

“I used to have an internet vlog,” Bitty said. “I told people there, but it didn’t really count because I didn’t know them and I couldn’t see them. It was more like talking to myself.”

Jack poured himself coffee from the pot, refilling Shitty’s mug for good measure, before sitting down and watching Bitty drop four slices of whole-grain bread in the toaster and pour what looked like mostly egg whites into the pan with the vegetables.

“It’s not very fancy,” Bitty said. “But I know you’re on a schedule.”

Shitty looked at Jack and said, “Should I pretend I don’t know who you are and ask what you do and how you know Bitty, or can we dispense with that?”

“Bitty said he trusted you, so let’s just assume you know who I am,” Jack said.

“Coolio,” Shitty said. “Then I can tell you what a sweet goal that was last night before I ask your intentions.”

Jack stiffened, and Shitty laughed and said, “Not really. Bits here is a grown man, as he never fails to remind me, and makes his own decisions. But you should know that he also has a lot of friends who care deeply about him, and would not take it kindly if his hockey idol screwed with him.”

“Shitty!” Bitty looked mortified.

“Relax, Bits, I didn’t mean it like that,” Shitty said. “You two are welcome to screw each other in as many ways as you like, as long as both of you consent and you’re careful to be safe.”

Bitty apparently decided the best way to deal with his friend was to ignore him.

“I apologize for Shitty,” Bitty said. “He means well, but he really should shut up.”

“Come on, Bits, I’ve known you for going on six years, and this is the first person I’ve been introduced to at the breakfast table,” Shitty said. “This is clearly important to you.”

“It’s not like that,” Bitty protested. “Jack came to talk to me after the game last night, and it got late so he stayed. That’s all.”

“Right,” Shitty said. “Did he sleep in the same bed? Because I happen to know there are four bedrooms up there and no one else is here.”

“It’s fine,” Jack told Bitty. “It’s good your friends care about you. I don’t have any intention of toying with your affection. But hockey idol? Really?”

Bitty was practically scarlet.

“Shitty, bless your heart, and butt out,” he said. “Jack, honey, I’m in this for real, too. But I don’t want to hear any more more about that.”

“Ouch,” Shitty said. “Fine. If the ‘bless your hearts’ are coming out, I’ll shut up now.”

**************************************

Jack was on the road by 11:30, meaning there was no way he’d make it to the training rink at noon. Good thing team lunch was first, followed by a 12:30 p.m. meeting. He wouldn’t be hungry anyway, and there was a little more leeway with being late..

The harder thing to figure out was what to do about his clothes. Walking into lunch in yesterday’s suit would be like trying to sneak into his parents’ house at 7:30 a.m. when was 17. He tried it once; it hadn’t gone well.

He did have a gym bag in the car. He could stop somewhere on the road and switch to workout gear. That would still be unusual for him -- he usually wore a higher class of track pants to team meals. But it wouldn’t scream “I haven’t been home” like wearing his suit.

Maybe he should have been better prepared when he drove to Samwell. He hadn’t even known where Bitty was, for sure. Marty said the boys were at some kind of hockey house at Samwell. How hard could it be to find it?

In the end, not very. He’d stopped at a gas station in the town of Samwell and said he was looking for a house where all the hockey players lived. The cashier gave him a blank look, but another customer who was buying beef jerky and Fiji water interrupted.

“It’s not a hockey house,” he said. “It’s the hockey Haus.”

Somehow it sounded different when he said it.

“Go about a half mile up this street, make a right then a left on Jason Street,” the man continued. “You’ll see it on your left. And hey, tell ‘em Johnson said ‘Fuck the lax bros.’”

Jack followed the directions (except the part about saying “Fuck the lax bros”); he knew the house by the crossed hockey sticks mounted above the porch.

He’d thought he prepared himself. He’d gone over the pros and cons of outing himself to Bitty a hundred times, and Marty agreed that it wouldn’t be too big a risk. Someone who chose to go to Samwell was unlikely to be homophobic, at the very least. And there was something in the way Bitty looked at him … and the way Marty and Pops both seemed to want to encourage this. Jack had been pretty sure he had a chance with Bitty.

But he’d been so focused on that that it never occurred to him to think about what would happen next. Was he just going to tell Bitty he had feelings for him and turn around and drive away?

And what if the morning had gone differently? Jack had been too tired last night for anything more than some lazy, long kisses after they went to bed, but what if Shitty hadn’t been banging on the front door when he woke up? Jack certainly hadn’t come prepared for any kind of sexual encounter. Would Bitty have condoms at least?

Next time, Jack told himself, he’d be better prepared.

He pulled into a BP and bought a Gatorade and protein bar before asking where the bathroom was. When he emerged in form-fitting shorts and Under Armor T-shirt, he made his way to the car quickly, not looking up to see if people were watching.

It wasn’t as easy to avoid attention when he got to the Falcs’ facility. He walked into the dining area, grabbing some chicken fajitas before sitting down so he would have something in front of him.

“Zimmboni, you change before lunch?” Tater said. “Why? We change before workout.”

“Maybe he didn’t have anything else to put on,” Thirdy said.

“Jack always did keep workout clothes in his car,” Marty said.

“Why would he need to change into clothes from his car?” Tater said.

“Jack’s wearing his emergency clothes?” Snowy asked. “I always thought he just had those in case there was a pressing need to exercise.”

“Maybe he had another pressing need,” Marty said.

Jack sat stoic through it all, taking a bit of his fajita and chewing it thoroughly.

Finally, he said, “I think we all have the same need,” he said. “We need to win this next game and get home ice back. You all ready?”

#omgcheckplease #omg check please #zimbits #nhl!jack #my fic

[dr-dean]

An Unexpected Surprise

Fandom: Check Please!

Ship: Zimbits

Tags: ABO, Witch/Familiar AU, alpha!jack, witch!jack, omega!bitty, familiar!bitty, fluff, smut, knotting

Word Count: 3,445

Summary: Alpha Witch Jack finally gets to meet his familiar and is very happy its a cute little omega. Because the world needs more Zimbits ABO.

A/N: I already posted a link for it on tumblr, but I was too tired to do a proper post last night so here it is! Many thanks to @blue-reveries for betaing and @unforth-ninawaters for cheer-leading.

READ ON AO3

Jack was going for his morning run, his earbuds were in and he was finally zoning out. His morning runs were one of the few times that he could shut his mind off and not be so anxious all the time. They really helped to center him and were an important part of his daily routine.

As he was running through the park near his apartment he felt a brush of fur on his leg and his magic lit up inside of him. MINE , he thought. He looked down and saw a golden retriever running next to him. The golden was looking up at him and smiling with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Jack reached down and scratched him behind the ear as he continued running. The dog practically melted into his touch and kept by Jack’s side.

Jack brought his hand up to his nose to wipe away some sweat, and instead of smelling dog, he smelled omega. The omega smelled like freshly baked pie. It was rare for familiars to be omegas, most of them were betas. As an alpha Jack knows that if his familiar is an omega there is no way it isn’t going to turn into a relationship if the omega is even slightly attractive. No way Jack could spend that much time and get that personal with a cute omega and not get involved. Luckily, it's no longer taboo for a witch to be with his familiar but it’s still uncommon. Unless it’s an alpha/omega pair and then it was just the norm.

Jack decided to cut his run a little short and the dog followed him home. Once he was in the apartment, he poured two glasses of water and started making breakfast. “Are you hungry?” he asked while his back was turned to the dog as he got the ingredients for a veggie scramble out of the fridge. “If you change, you can sit up at the island and we can talk, if you need there is a bathrobe in the bathroom, second door on the left.”

Not all familiars could change with clothes on and he didn’t want the omega to feel too shy. Jack heard the scrape of a chair on his floor and when he turned around he saw a small blond boy wearing a tank top and shorts sitting at the island. A cute omega guy as a familiar, Jack thanked his lucky stars. Not only were omega familiars rare, but male omegas in general were really rare. Jack really had no preference between guys or girls, but he definitely preferred omegas, especially blonds. Jack handed him a glass of water. “I’m making a veggie scramble, anything you don’t eat?”

The boy shook his head and gulped down the water. Jack refilled it and handed it back to the boy. “You know, you have the same eyes and same hair as you do in your dog form.”

“How’d you know?” The boy’s eyes were wide and he had a thick southern accent.

“That you’re a familiar?” The boy nodded his head. “When you touched me when I was running. My magic lit up and responded to you. And I just knew that you were mine.” Jack tried not to sound too possessive, he didn’t want to scare the boy away but he knew he would never let this boy go.

Instead of being scared the boy seemed to relax at that. “I thought that you’re my witch. I just turned 20 a week ago, and I started to feel this pull, you know? When classes were done on Friday I went out looking for you. I found that park last night and something about it just felt right. And then you came running through this morning and I just had to follow you. Your magic was pulling at me. And it just felt right when you scratched my ears. I had to keep following you to see.”

“Friday?!? But it’s Sunday now. What school do you go to?” With his southern accent that thick he might go to a school pretty far away, but Jack hopes that it’s something closer.

“Samwell.”

A forty minute drive, but most familiars looked for their witches on foot; it was still a very long walk. “How’d you get here?”

“I walked, in dog form the whole time. I couldn’t feel the pull as strongly when I was in my human form.”

Jack frowned, he didn’t like the idea of his familiar suffering. “When was the last time you ate a proper meal?”

The boy laughed. “Don’t worry,” he pulled out something from his back pocket of his shorts and set it on the table, “as long as I have stuff in my pockets when I change I still have it when I change back, so I had my wallet and was able to stop and buy food along the way.”

Jack relaxed a bit as he looked over and saw the wallet, he knew some familiars would go for days or weeks without properly eating when they were looking for their witch, not everyone could change back and forth with their clothes let alone their possessions. His familiar must be pretty powerful in order to do that.

“Plus, it really didn’t take that long to find you.” He pulled out a cell phone from his other pocket and turned it on. “Any chance you have an iPhone charger? I forgot to bring one and I’m sure my phone is almost dead.”

“Yeah, there’s one right next to the couch,” Jack pointed with his spatula.

The boy hopped off the chair and plugged the phone in and typed furiously on it before coming back, just as he was sitting back down Jack slid a plate of food in front of him. Jack ate his while standing on the opposite side of the island. “Do you have to get back for classes on Monday?”

The boy swallowed a bite. “Yes, but my first class isn’t until noon, so I can sleep over tonight and take an early train back tomorrow.”

“I’ll drive you, that should give you more time.” Jack wanted to have as much time to get to know his familiar while they were both free.

He smiled and his eyes sparkled at Jack. “Thank you, honey, I appreciate that.”

“So tell me about yourself.” Jack couldn’t just keep calling him ‘mine’ or ‘the boy’ in his head.

“What is this, an interview?” His familiar chirped.

Jack smirked, “No, but I’d like to get to know you. I’m Jack by the way.”

The boy pointed his fork at Jack, fake scowling and trying to hold back a grin. “I know who you are, Jack Zimmerman! I watch hockey! You’re the captain of the Falconers! But I had no idea that you’re a witch.”

“Yeah,” Jack stared down at his food, “that’s not something that’s public knowledge, so I would appreciate if you kept it under wraps.”

“Oh! Of course, sweetheart!” he nodded, “no one at school knows I’m a familiar! They just think that there’s a stray dog that likes to hang around the Haus.”

“Haus?” Jack asked, the way Bitty said it sounded German.

“It’s where I live. It’s an off-campus house where most of the hockey players live, I play on the Samwell team. I’m Eric, Eric Bittle but everyone calls me Bitty.”

This Bitty was just too much for Jack, a cute omega who was into hockey? Jack felt like he had hit the familiar jackpot. “An omega on the hockey team?”

Bitty scowled at Jack. “Hey! Just cuz I’m an omega doesn’t mean I can’t play ‘alpha’ sports.”

Jack holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you must be good, they have a good team, and it can be hard to be taken seriously as an omega in full contact sports so you must be the best player on the team. Do they treat you alright?”

Bitty’ scowl melted into a smile. “I’m not sure about best, but I am the fastest on the ice. They’re like a family to me. They’re like these huge overprotective brothers. You should see them if they think someone is gunning for me on the ice. They will beat him to a pulp and have no issues going to the sin bin for it.”

Jack smiled. “Good, I would hate to put the fear of God into them for not taking good care of you. I know until you graduate I’m not going to be able to be around all the time to protect you.”

“Going all big alpha on me already?” Eric chirped.

Jack turned the charm up as high as he could. “It’s hard not to when I have such a cute omega as a familiar.”

Bitty blushed and turned bright red. “Oh Lord, are you chirping me or flirting with me Mr. Zimmerman?”

“Let’s go with both,” Jack smirked and his eyes sparkled.

When they are done eating Jack cleared their plates.

“I don’t know about you but I need a shower. I have a guest room that has its own bathroom,” Jack said.

Bitty hopped off the chair. “That would be great, but I could use some clean clothes too.”

Jack nodded and headed towards his bedroom. He grabbed his smallest pair of workout shorts with a drawstring, and his tightest ‘Property of the Falconer's’ t-shirt. He liked the idea of seeing Bitty in a shirt that claimed him as his. He also grabbed a pair of compression shorts for Bitty to use as underwear. “I’m sure these are going to be a little big on you, but they are the smallest I have. Towels, soap, and shampoo are all in the guest bath.” Jack lead Bitty across the hall and placed the clean clothes on the counter in the bathroom. He opened a drawer and showed the contents to Bitty. “There’s also toothbrushes and toothpaste here for you. Do you need anything else?”

Bitty shook his head. “I think you have everything covered. You sure are prepared for guests!”

“Well, the toothbrushes and toothpaste are all those samples from the dentist’s office that they always give you. I have a fancy electric toothbrush so I don’t use them, but I can’t bear to throw them away. The soap and shampoo,” he pointed to a basket full of little travel sizes, “are from hotels, I kinda collect a lot of them with all the traveling that I do. The towels I just have.”

“Do you have lots of unexpected guests?” Bitty asked.

“My parents come to visit a bit but they always let me know first. You’re the first one to just show up out of the blue on me.”

“Sorry.” Bitty bites his lip.

Jack grabbed onto Bitty’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “Don’t apologize! I’ve been waiting a long time for you. I was starting to worry that you’d never show up.”

Bitty smiled at him. “You’re not that old Jack! It’s not uncommon to not get a familiar until after you’re 25!”

“True, but both of my parents had theirs by the time they were 22. I know not every witch gets a familiar and I was starting to give up hope.” At 26 Jack was getting old for not having a familiar, it was almost unheard of for a witch to get one after they turned 30.

“Well have no fear, I’m 99% sure I’m your familiar.”

“Only 99%?” Jack chirped him.

“Oh hush you! I’ll be 100% sure after we both take a shower and I can confirm some things.” Bitty practically shoved Jack out of the bathroom. “Now go, we both stink.”

Jack met him in the living room a short time later. They both had damp hair and Bitty was checking something on his phone when Jack came out. Bitty patted the spot on the couch right next to him and Jack sat there. Bitty rested his head in Jack’s lap and Jack carded his fingers through Bitty’s blond hair.

“Mmmmmmm, that feels good,” Bitty mumbled.

“You like to be pet even in your human form?” Jack asked.

Bitty glared at him. “I’m not sure if that’s a chirp or a real question.”

“A real question. I know some familiars share some of their animal traits even in their human form.”

Bitty sighed and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I do like it.”

“Then I’ll keep doing it.” Jack scratched softly behind Bitty’s ears and Bitty seemed to just melt into him. “So what do you need to do to make you 100% sure I’m your witch?”

“I need to scent you.”

“Scent me? Isn’t that something more for mates to do then witches and familiars?” Jack liked where this was going but he had to be sure.

“Yes, but I’m an omega and you’re an alpha, if we aren’t compatible as mates then it's going to be very awkward living with you with your ruts and my heats and not sharing them. It’s already bad enough living in a house full of alphas when I go into heat.”

“Do they help you out?” Jack asked. He knew that it was a very personal question but he had to know.

Bitty turned bright red. “Um, yeah, my D-men do. They like sharing and it helps to have both of them so they can still go to class and trade off helping me out. I tried on my own once but with all the alphas in the house it was just too painful.”

“Next time you should come here. I don’t want anyone else helping you out anymore.” Jack knew it was too soon to really lay a claim on Bitty, and he didn’t mind that he had alphas to help him in the past, but he felt like Bitty was his and he didn’t like the idea of other alphas having what was his.

“But what if you’re on a roadie?” Apparently Bitty didn’t seem to mind the idea of coming to Providence for Jack to help him, he just didn’t want to be alone.

Jack continued to card his fingers through Bitty’s hair in a way that he hoped was reassuring.“Then I’ll just bring you with me. The other guys do it with their omegas all the time, you’ll stay in the hotel and I’ll only be gone for the game. Most omegas just seem to nap thru the games during heat anyways.”

“But the bus??” Bitty squeaked.

“We have some special divided rows in the back. Originally it was just meant for guys going through their ruts so it wouldn’t trigger the rest of the team to go into rut as well. But now some of the guys use them if their omega is in heat. They’re scent and sound protected so it doesn’t bother the rest of us.”

“Oh. That’s um, good.”

“When’s your next heat?” Jack had to know to start planning.

“In, like, two weeks.” Bitty bit his lip.

Jack smiled. “Well, won’t we have some fun then.”

“Why?” Bitty tilted his head in confusion.

“My rut’s due in two weeks. It sounds like our cycles might already be lined up.” Jack really liked the idea that they could already be synced up.

Bitty’s eyes went wide as he sat up, Jack kept his hand in Bitty’s hair wrapped the other hand around his waist and pulled him into his scent point. “No need to worry about that until you scent me anyways.” Bitty inhaled and then climbed up onto Jacks lap to nuzzle in and scent him some more. “Like what you smell?” Jack asked tentatively.

“Yes,” Bitty breathed out and melted into Jack.

“Can I scent you?” Jack asked.

“Yes.” Bitty tilted his head to the side and presented his neck to Jack.

Jack bent down and breathed Bitty in. Even clean he smelled like freshly baked pie. He had used some sort of fruity body wash and it just enhanced the pie smell. “Mmmmmmm, you smell good.” Jack felt his dick getting hard, and he felt Bitty’s getting on board too. Besides the smell of pie, the smell of arousal was hanging thickly over them. “If you don’t get off my lap soon, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

Bitty removed himself from Jack’s shoulder and bit his lip. “Maybe we can take this to the bedroom. I would hate to make a mess on your couch.”

Jack just stood up and threw Bitty over his shoulder in a fireman carry. Bitty let out an undignified squeak but didn’t complain otherwise. Jack carried him to his bedroom and then laid him down gently on his king-sized bed. Jack quickly divested himself of all his clothing and saw Bitty just staring at him with wide eyes amd his mouth open. “Like what you see?” Jack asked.

Bitty just nodded. “Can you, um, turn around?” Bitty timidly asked.

Jack did a slow turn and flexed his glutes when his back is turned to Eric.

Bitty squeaked. “That really is a thing of beauty! Oh Lord, you have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off to pictures of your butt, but to see it naked in person! I think I’ve died and gone to heaven!”

Jack laughed and pounced on Bitty. “What’s fair is fair, your turn to strip.”

Bitty takes a lot longer than Jack to wiggle out of his clothes as Jack doesn’t seem to have it in him to get off of Bitty or to stop kissing him. When Bitty finally was naked, Jack got up onto his knees looming over the smaller boy. “You look good Bits. I can tell you workout. Now let’s see if you have a hockey butt too.” Jack manhandles Bitty so that he is laying on his stomach. Jack put both his hands on Bitty’s butt and squeezed. “Mmmmm, I think you do.”

Jack laid back down on top of Bitty and nipped at his ear as his hard cock rests between Bitty’s ass cheeks. “What would you like to do?” Jack asked.

“Knot me,” Bitty breathed out, “I need you to knot me.”

Jack growled and rubbed a finger around Bitty’s hole, finding it soaking wet. Jack groaned. “Fuck, Bitty, you’re already so wet for me.” Jack was able to easily slid in two fingers and just went straight to rubbing Bitty’s prostate.

“Stop teasing me and knot me already!” Bitty squirmed beneath Jack.

“I don’t want to hurt you baby,” Jack said as he inserted a third finger.

Bitty groaned, “I’m an omega, unless you are extra rough it won't hurt. I was made to take a knot.”

Jack pulled out his fingers and wiped the excess slick off onto his dick before gently sliding it in.

Bitty sighed in relief when Jack was all the way in.

Jack moved slowly and gently while kissing Bitty’s neck for a while before picking up the pace and biting down onto Bitty’s neck, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave a mark. Jack would love to bite Bitty and claim him not just as his familiar but as his mate. However, he wouldn’t do that until they got to know each other better, until Bitty begged him for it. It didn't mean that he would leave any other marks on Bitty in the meantime.

Bitty was moaning underneath him and pushing back as good as he was taking it. Jack could feel his knot starting to swell.

Apparently Bitty could feel it too. “Knot me, please, Jack, Knot me. I need your knot,” he begged.

Jack couldn’t say no, so he thrusted deeply until his knot caught and he came inside of Bitty. Bitty moaned and clamped down on Jack as he came as well.

Bitty turned his head so he could see Jack. “Your knot feels huge. And its pressing right on my prostate.”

Jack kissed Bitty on the lips. “Well, I hope you like how it feels because I don’t think that it’s going to go down anytime soon.”

Bitty kissed back. “It feels amazing, just don’t move or I’ll cum again.”

Jack slowly rocked his hips. “Why would that be a bad thing?”

Bitty scolded, “I’m not in heat you, asshole. Cumming so close together makes me over-sensitive!”

Jack stopped moving his hips and nibbled at Bitty’s ear. “I hope my knot convinced you one hundred percent that you’re my familiar.”

“Alpha,” Bitty sighed, “you’re my witch. One hundred percent.”

“Mine,” Jack said as he nipped at Bitty’s shoulder.

“Yours,” Bitty agreed.

#omgkinkpls18 #zimbits fanfiction #zimbits au #zimbits abo #omgcp fic #omgcp #mine

[alphacrone]

in which dex & bitty have a fight, bitty & ransom make out, dex comes to realize a few things, & poor nursey is ghosted for a couple hours. also pie.

[Part of the Blue-Eyed Jack ‘Verse. Set loosely between All Decked Out Like a Cowboy’s Dream and Kitty & the Biscuits]

CW: dubious consent (drunk surprise kissing), vague homophobia, coming out, canon typical alcohol abuse (they are taking very small shots i promise)

CON’T TEXT CONVERSATION BETWEEN YOU AND DEREK NURSE

WP: And then Cait said she’d call the cops and those kids ran so fast, it was hilarious.

DN: who’s Cait?

DN: also LOL

WP: Chow’s girlfriend.

DN: wait i thought you guys were all gay

WP: Why would you think that?

DN: ur the Gay Country Band i thought that meant the Whole band

WP: No.

WP: Just Bitty.

WP: I think.

WP: Chowder has a girlfriend.

WP: Ransom’s brought girls home more than once.

WP: Just Bitty.

DN: what about u?

WP: What about me?

DN: u just listed all the reasons ur bandmates aren’t gay

DN: but not urself

DN: y?

WP: I didn’t think I needed to say it.

WP: What does it matter?

DN: idk just curious

WP: Whatever.

Dex huffed and slumped back against the nasty, green couch. He knew Bitty would make a fuss about sitting on it -- the thing had been a point of contention between him and Chowder for months now -- but the only other option were the lumpy arm chairs and Dex hated those things.

“You texting with Derek again?”

Dex started; he hadn't realized Bitty was home. “Yeah. Why d’you ask?”

Bitty cast him a wry look over the back of the couch. “He stresses you out in a way only Chowder ever has.”

“That's not true,” Dex said grumpily. “You stress me out the most.”

“So kind,” Bitty teased. “Keep up that kinda sweet talk and I'll think you're flirting with me.”

Normally Dex would've laughed at the absurdity of the idea, but today it gave him pause. “Do people really think we’re the ‘gay country band?’”

Bitty’s smile fell. “Well, yeah, sort of. Why?”

Dex shrugged, glancing at his phone. “I don't know. Just something Derek said. I thought it was like...you were the ‘gay country singer’ and we were just your band.”

Bitty’s face grew steely and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm sorry you have to suffer through the inconvenience of people assuming you're gay, that must just be so difficult-”

“Bitty,” Dex started, but Bitty was already headed out of the room.

“I'm going to the store,” Bitty said gruffly, grabbing his wallet from the key basket. “Be back later.” Dex stood to follow, hand outstretched.

“Bits-” But the front door slammed shut. Dex huffed a frustrated sigh and punched the wall, not quite hard enough to break anything but just enough to hurt.

Why was it that Derek’s texts annoyed him so much? Dex had never minded being lumped in with the rainbow flags and hell-bound accusations before; the Biscuits were a team and a team stuck together, had each other’s backs. Bitty was the only one of them who was gay, but they all stood for his message.

Except...except maybe he wasn't the only one at all.

It had been about a year prior, and they were on the last stretch of a tour, heading from Boise to Seattle through a long stretch of absolutely nothing. Rans had picked up a thing of decent whiskey in a sketchy, Idaho liquor store and they were in the middle of a rousing game of never have I ever. Chowder was winning at this point, with only a few fingers down, but seemed to be mercilessly targeting Bitty.

(“Never ever I have ever...lived in Madison, Georgia.”

“I swear to God, Christopher-”)

Dex was doing alright himself. He'd been impacted by Bitty’s attacks against northerners and hockey fans, but not in the same way Ransom had. Now they were battling each other ruthlessly, determined not to go out first. Bitty had two fingers left; Ransom had one.

There was something dangerously smug in Ransom’s drunken gaze as he rounded on Bitty, smirk growing. “Never ever have I ever...kissed another man.”

Bitty gasped indignantly and took his shot like a champ, very reluctantly lowering a finger. Before the next turn could be taken, however, he lunged across the circle and pulled Ransom’s mouth to his.

It wasn't the most coordinated kissing Dex had ever seen. Ransom was drunk enough that the force of it knocked him over to the side, and he dragged Bitty with him. Bitty paid no mind to the fact that he was now lying on top of his best friend; they both sort of got lost in the movements of their lips, kissing languidly and sloppily for a moment, like they were the only two people on that bus.

Then Bitty pulled back with a triumphant grin and shouted, “Take a shot, Justin.”

“No!” Ransom flopped back onto the ground, covering his face in his hands. “Bits that was a dirty move. I call foul!”

“Don't be a sore loser,” Bitty chirped, filling Ransom’s shot glass halfway. Dex supposed it would've been filled all the way if Bitty hadn't spilled so much onto the floor of the tour bus.

“Bitty, that was great!” Chowder said through his laughter. “Wasn't it, Dex?”

But Dex couldn't answer, all too aware of the uncomfortable tightness of his pants. He willed himself to calm down, to not show just how much he'd been affected by the scene in front of him.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Bitty was huffing out as Ransom tried to sit on him. “Did I offend your delicate, Canadian sensibilities?”

“I'll show you delicate,” Ransom hissed, using his full body weight to squish Bitty against the floor. Bitty’s cheeks had gone bright red from the liquor and the exertion, and Dex found the sight more intoxicating than the alcohol in his bloodstream. “You're a huge cheater and I'm gonna make sure the whole world knows.” He pulled a marker from his pocket, uncapping it with his teeth.

“No you don't!” Bitty shouted, struggling against Ransom, but Ransom was twice his size and loomed over him. Dex swallowed roughly. “We have an interview tomorrow! Absolutely not! Do not draw on my face- I will call your mother right now.”

Somewhere in there, Dex excused himself to the bathroom, and hoped no one noticed when he took a little extra time and returned glassy-eyed and out of breath.

When Bitty returned from the “store” several hours later, he was met by the sight of a pie. Peaches and cream, to be exact.

It was nothing fancy, not like the salted rose and honey pie Bitty had made the day before, the crust shaped into beautiful braids and flower petals, but it was the one kind of pie Bitty could never bring himself to make, despite the fact that it was his favorite. Dex had a hunch as to why this was, but had never gotten a direct answer about it. And that didn’t matter right now.

“I didn’t…” He started as Bitty cautiously stepped into the kitchen, eyes wide as he studied the pie on the table. “I wasn’t trying to imply I was- it’s not-”

“Dex, it’s fine,” Bitty said sullenly. “You’re not the first straight guy I’ve known who’s-”

“I’m gay,” Dex blurted out, wringing his hands together. “Um. Yeah.”

Bitty’s eyes, if possible, grew wider. “Oh! Oh, Dex, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve- I should’ve-”

“You didn’t know,” Dex said with a small shrug. “And honestly...I haven’t been sure about it myself. Until now.”

“Oh, hun.” Bitty surged forward and pulled Dex into a tight hug. Dex let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and rested his chin on top of Bitty’s head. “C’mon, let’s eat this pie you made and you can talk about it. Or not!” He added, pulling back with a worried expression. “You don’t have to, unless you want to, but if you want to I’m always here, please know that-”

“Bits.” Dex grabbed both of his shoulders, smiling down at him. “There’s no one else I’d want to talk to about it more.”

“Because I’m the only gay guy you know?” Bitty chirped, moving to cut two slices of pie. Dex rolled his eyes.

“I do have other friends, you know,” he said, pulling out two plates and two forks.

“Sure,” Bitty said lightly. “And I’m an NBA player.” He handed a plate to Dex with a teasing grin.

“Ass,” Dex said, but kissed Bitty’s cheek lightly in thanks. Bitty rolled his eyes but Dex felt a million pounds lighter, just from the sheer freedom of being able to do something like that without consequence, at least in the safety of their kitchen. Bitty took his own slice and shepherded Dex into the living room, chatting a mile a minute about how good the pie smelled and how impressed he was Dex had made it all on his own.

When Chowder returned from Cait’s that evening, he walked into the living room to see Bitty and Dex asleep on the couch -- on top of a beach towel, obviously -- Bitty’s legs perched in Dex’s lap and an empty pie tin sitting on the coffee table.

In Dex’s hand, about to fall to the floor, was his phone, still open to some text thread. Carefully, Chowder took the phone and set it on the table, noticing that the thread was with Derek Nurse, unsurprisingly. They’d all befriended the Falcs the evening Bitty and Jack got together; Chowder himself was frequently in contact with Snowy and Tater, and on occasion Nurse himself. He didn’t look at the thread, but if he had, it might’ve made him smile.

CON’T TEXT CONVERSATION BETWEEN YOU AND DEREK NURSE

WP: Sorry for ghosting. Had a fight with Bitty.

DN: dude u ok?

WP: Yeah, it’s all sorted out.  

WP: Also sorry for being a dick earlier. You didn’t deserve that reaction.

DN: nah im sorry for prying

WP: It’s just...not something I’m ready to talk about with most people just yet.

DN: will you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to

DN: we’re not bffs i understand

WP: No, I trust you.

WP: But it’s hard.

WP: Bitty’s a good first step I think.

WP: Then...friends.

DN: like me?

WP: Yeah. Like you.

DN: that’s

DN: that means a lot

DN: thank you

WP: Don’t let it go to your head.

DN: wouldn’t dream of it. ;)

WP: Ugh I already regret telling you this.

DN: no take backs. Ur stuck with me :D

WP: There are worse things I guess.

DN: chlamydia?

WP: Goodnight, Derek.

DN: night, will. don’t let the bedbugs bite

DN: unless ur into that ;) ;) ;)

WP: Go away

DN: :*

DN: wow did u really text jack to tell me to shut up?

DN: rude

DN: goodNIGHT will, hope bitty feeds u poisoned pie

WP: :*

DN: emoticon. can’t tell if im proud or mad

DN: u better sleep w one eye open

WP: Go to sleep. I’ll still be here to annoy in the morning.

DN: good :)

#omgcp country singer au #anna writes things #check please! #omgcp fic #bitty & dex #zimbits #nurseydex

[porcupine-girl]

I don’t often post previews like this? But all three of those ideas I posted last night, they’ve been festering and developing in my head for a while now, and I’m just like... so eager to show them to people and talk to people about them, even if it’ll be a while before any of them are fully written. So I’ll probably be doing this more in the next few weeks. :)

Anyhow, I wound up mostly writing on the baby AU last night (Jack got Camilla pregnant, is going to raise the baby himself, Bitty goes to Providence for the summer to be his nanny). Keep in mind this is an almost-totally-unedited first draft, almost certain to change! (about 1400 words under the cut)

Eric was surprised to see Camilla Collins coming down the stairs when he got home from his afternoon class. They traded polite hellos as they passed each other, Camilla's smile looking a bit strained.

He knew she and Jack dated for a bit last year, but Jack hadn't really said a word about her since, and Eric hadn't seen her around. Were they back together? If they were, she hadn't looked terribly happy about it.

When he got to his room, he saw that Jack's door was open. Jack was sitting on his bed, looking dazed.

Eric poked his head in. "You okay, Jack?"

Jack looked up, but looked right through Eric as he sat there blinking for a moment. Finally, he shook his head as thought to clear it.

"I… I don't know."

That was not the response Eric had been expecting. He frowned and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and dropping his bag next to it.

"What's going on? Did Camilla… break up with you or something?"

"What?" Jack's brow furrowed a little, but he still seemed mostly out of it. His voice was somewhat faint as he said, "We're not dating."

"Oh, right," Eric said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I mean, I didn't think you were, but I don't know, I figured maybe I'm just out of the loop."

Jack looked down at his hands. "We… hooked up. Once. I mean, yeah, we dated for a bit last year, but that was a while ago. We hooked up once this school year, back in September. I hadn't even talked to her since then."

"Okay," Eric said slowly. He wasn't sure he really needed that information, but it felt like Jack was working up to whatever it was that had him so… maybe not quite upset, but in shock?

"She's pregnant."

Eric's eyes widened. He dropped onto the bed next to Jack, who leaned into him a little, like he was relieved to have someone there. "Oh. Oh, gosh. And it's…"

Jack shrugged. "She says she hasn't been with anyone else since then. No reason for her to lie."

"Is she…" Eric wasn't quite sure what he wanted to ask. "Does she… want to keep the baby?"

"Yes." Jack shook his head. "No. I mean—she's not having an abortion. But she wants to give it up for adoption."

Eric hated himself a little for being relieved. Relieved that Camilla didn't want to keep the baby herself, that it wouldn't be a reason for Jack to get back together with her. It was a terrible thing to think, not to mention totally useless since it's not like Eric had a chance either way.

"All she really wants from me is to go to the doctor's appointments with her," Jack continued. "Just for moral support. She doesn't even want me to pay for anything, she says her insurance will cover most of it and what it doesn't, the adopting parents will."

Eric nodded. "Well, that sounds. Y'know. Doable. But I get why you're…" He waved a hand up and down toward Jack. "In shock, I guess. Even if you don't have to do much, that's still kinda big, knowing a piece of you's gonna be out there livin' in the world somewhere."

"Yeah," Jack said quietly, frowning.

They sat there for a minute or two, Jack lost in his thoughts, Eric watching him.

"If you need anything," Eric finally said softly, "just to talk about it, or help with anything, or… or baked goods—" Jack didn't quite laugh, but he snorted and smiled, and that was good enough. "—you know I'm here for you, right? Anytime at all."

Jack nodded. "Thanks, Bittle. You won't tell anyone, right?"

"Good lord, of course not."

—

Finals came and went, Epikegster and Kent Parson came and went, winter break came and went.

Jack didn't mention the pregnancy again until one day in mid-January when he quietly slipped into Eric's room and shut the door behind him.

Eric looked up from where he was highlighting a textbook on his bed.

"What's up?"

Jack was a little pale. Eric hadn't seen him looking so shaken since… actually, he looked even worse than the day he found out that Camilla was pregnant.

Jack came right over to the bed and sat down next to Eric. He stared down at his hands long enough that Eric started to worry.

"Jack?" he finally asked. "What's going on?"

"What if she's like me?" Jack said, his voice nearly a whisper.

"She?"

"The baby. She's a girl." He finally looked up into Eric's eyes. "I went with Camilla to the doctor today, and they did the ultrasound. It's not… theoretical anymore, it's not just this abstract idea, that I got someone pregnant. She's got arms and legs and she was wiggling around. And what if…" His eyes shifted down again, to where he was twisting his fingers in his lap. "What if she's like me, what if she has an anxiety disorder or some other mental illness, and her parents don't know how to deal with it? What if they're in denial like mine were, and she just hurts worse and worse until she breaks?"

"Oh, honey," Eric said softly, touching Jack's arm. "That's a lotta what ifs, you know. She might not inherit any of that, and even if she does, I'm sure her parents will get her help. They'll have all the information about you, right? Your medical history? They'll know what to look out for."

"Or what if—" Jack cut himself off, and Eric realized suddenly that he was trying not to cry. Eric leaned his head on Jack's shoulder, and to his surprise, Jack leaned his head on Eric's.

"What if," Jack tried again after swallowing down whatever tears had been threatening him, "they see that I'm her biological father, and that I'm in the NHL, and they expect that from her? I mean, obviously not the NHL but something at that level? It was hard enough growing up in the shadow of my dad when I was surrounded by people who knew what it was like, what if she has parents who push her and have these expectations for her and they've never even felt that pressure themselves so they don't even know how to help her handle it as much as my parents did? You know what happened to me; if she has my talent but also my problems, and parents who push her and don't get her the help she needs—" Jack drew in a shuddering breath. "If she's going to be born, I don't want her to suffer like that."

Eric waited a few moments before speaking, wanting to make sure Jack had said everything he wanted to get out.

"Will Camilla let you help pick out her parents?" he finally asked. "You'd get to talk to them, right? You could ask them how they'd handle all of that."

Jack took a deep breath, then nodded. "I could—yeah, I should maybe talk to her about that. Sometime when I'm… not freaking out about it. But even then, they could say anything right now to sound good—I mean, think about it. They're gonna want to give the right answers to get us to choose them, right? Obviously the right answer is no, of course we won't pressure our daughter into anything just because she's good at something. They might even believe it right now. But fifteen years from now, how do I know they're going to follow through on that? Or that they'll even know how to? If she's really good at—well, any sport, really—something, and is pushing herself, and making it to the top levels, will they even have any idea how to balance supporting her pursuing it with not pushing her?"

"That sounds like something any parent would struggle with," Eric said carefully, lifting his head up to look at Jack. "I would hope they wouldn't lie about it just get a baby, though. I'm sure you'd be able to tell if they were."

"Maybe," Jack said, frowning down at his hands again. He finally glanced at Eric. "Sorry. I don't mean to dump all this on you, it's just… I haven't told anyone else yet."

"Oh, Jack, that is fine!" Eric said. "I told you you could come to me with anything at all, and I meant it! If there is absolutely anything I can do to help, please let me know, okay?"

Jack gave him a hint of a smile before standing up. "I will. I think I've got some thinking to do, but I'll let you know if I need a sounding board for it, okay?"

"Absolutely. Anytime, Jack, I'm serious."

#omgcp #zimbits #pg writes

[foryouandbits]

Please write it! If you want to...I understand that pushing fic writers can be stressful. I guess I just mean that I would love to read it if you want to write it!

Okay, okay, twist my arm, will ya? This is not at all angsty, but here is Jack and Bitty getting into a fender-bender, and Bitty showing that he’s been in Boston for far too long. Rated T for swearing and implied sexytimes. (Read on AO3)

They were both in the car when it happened, headed from the Haus to Jack’s apartment for the weekend. It was one of those rare times their schedules synced up for more than a day – Jack was coming off the high of winning yet another home game, and was headed into a four-day weekend before travelling to Carolina to start their next away trip. He still had practice, as usual, but it seemed almost like a vacation, getting to sleep in his own bed for so many nights in a row. Bitty, on the other hand, had a game Sunday afternoon, but he was looking at almost forty-eight hours of Jack time.

Rush hour hadn’t quite started yet, but it was getting there as Bitty maneuvered Jack’s car through city streets toward the highway. It was another rarity – getting to drive Jack’s car. Most of the time Jack drove, fiercely protective and unwilling to budge when it came to Bitty’s safety, but when they left the Haus Bitty asked, “Can I drive this time?” and thoroughly expected Jack to say no. However, Jack tossed him the keys and Bitty stared at them for five full seconds before he sat behind the wheel.

He was never going to be allowed to drive again.

Bitty could have gunned it through the yellow light two blocks from the I-95 onramp, but years of experience with Jack’s old man driving made him think twice about it and instead he came to a hard stop just before the white line. The person behind Bitty seemed to think he could have gunned it through the yellow light too, because as the car came to a complete stop, a surge and a sickening crunch pushed both forward into the automatic airbags.

“That motherfucker hit us!” Bitty yelled after the collision of his face with the airbag.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked immediately. Jack’s seatbelt was off and his hands were already on Bitty’s arms to check for damage. “Bits, look at me. Are you okay?”

Bitty had spun in his seat already, looking out the back window at the car behind them. There wasn’t much to see since the collision had popped the trunk, but Bitty could see the crinkle of gray metal that was the rear of Jack’s car. Bitty returned to facing forward in his seat only when Jack physically spun him in that direction.

“Yes, sweetie, I’m fine,” said Bitty with a passive hand. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. We’re both fine. Excuse me while I get out of this car and give that asshole back there a piece of my mind.”

“You’re not supposed to leave the car after an accident! I’m calling 911 right now. Are you sure you’re okay? Is your neck okay?”

“I’m fine, Jack,” said Bitty through his teeth. He unbuckled his belt and opened the door, despite Jack’s grasping hands attempting to keep him in the vehicle.

The other driver was a forty-something man with a horrible mustache and a Patriots sweatshirt. He was also out of the car and headed toward Bitty with both of his hands up in the air. “Where the fuck’d you learn to drive, kid? Get your ass back in Rhode Island where it belongs.”

“Listen, asshole,” yelled Bitty, “I’m from Atlanta. I know about traffic. I also know about red lights, which you apparently don’t.”

“That light was barely yellow! You had plenty of time to go through it!”

“And you had plenty of time to stop! Just give me your damn insurance card so I can go home.”

The man’s face fell and Bitty felt cold all over.

“Ah,” he said, “you see… I’m kind of… in between insurances right now.”

“You don’t have insurance?” Bitty yelled. “Did you spend all your money on Patriots’ gear?”

The window lowered, drawing Bitty’s attention from the man’s increasingly red face. Bitty looked at Jack, who was leaning over the center console. “Bits,” he said. “The cops’ll be here in a minute. Get back in the car.”

“Not right now, Jack, I’m dealing with this asshole who doesn’t fucking have insurance,” said Bitty.

“Yeah, you should get in the car, Bits,” said Jack.

Instead of getting back in the car, Bitty took out his phone and began to take several pictures. The back of Jack’s car was crunched beyond repair; Bitty would be surprised if the insurance company didn’t total it. The front of the culprit’s car was equally destroyed, but by the looks of it, the vehicles took most of the impact. Bitty could already tell his neck was going to be sore in the morning, but it wouldn’t require medical attention. Bitty was sure to get the other man’s license plate in the shot, just in case he decided to skedaddle before the cops arrived.

“Stop taking pictures of my fucking car,” the man said.

“I’m taking as many pictures as I can so you can’t even begin to say this is my fault. I stopped for a red light. You didn’t stop at all,” said Bitty.

“Bittle!” yelled Jack through the window. “Get back in the car!”

Bitty didn’t, more riled up with anger than common sense, and continued to walk around both cars taking photos with his phone with little regard to the other cars on the street that were honking and yelling out open windows for them to clear the road.

“Stop taking pictures of my car!”

“Bittle!”

Jack finally got out of the car as well and took two steps toward Bitty, who was still snapping pictures. “Bitty,” he said. “Get in the car. Let’s get off the road before you get hit by someone trying to go around us.”

“Holy shit,” said the man. “You’re Jack Zimmermann.” Bitty shot an annoyed look at him; he no longer had any edge of a threat to his voice.

“Yes, and you just hit my car,” said Jack. “We’re going to pull over and out of everyone’s way. My boyfriend has pictures of your car, so I suggest you do the same. There’s the cops now.” Jack nodded toward flashing lights down the street, headed in their direction. “Bittle. Car. Now.”

Bitty made his way toward the driver’s side, but Jack pushed him in the other direction. “No, you’re never driving this car again.”

Bitty buckled himself into the passenger’s seat and quietly allowed Jack to pull the car out of the street and into the parking lot of the gas station at their intersection. When Jack shut the car off, Bitty reached for his belt buckle again, only to have Jack place a gentle hand on top of his.

“No,” Jack said firmly. “Stay here.”

“But the cops –”

“I’ll handle the cops. You stay here. That man was thirty seconds from punching you in the face.”

“He’s just an asshole without insurance,” said Bitty. “He could have seriously hurt us. You’re okay, right? How’s your neck?”

“I might get it checked by the team doctor tomorrow before practice, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine,” said Jack. “Are you okay? You look okay – but are you okay? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you riled up like this. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear this much in my life, even when… well. You know.”

Bitty could see the smirk on Jack’s lips as he let his last sentence linger, which caused an unexpected change in Bitty’s blood flow. “Do you like it?” Bitty asked.

“I do,” said Jack quietly.

“Hopefully this won’t take long,” said Bitty. “I’m amassing quite a bit of aggression right now. I need to let it out.”

Jack’s pupils dilated and Bitty squirmed in his seat.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Jack.

Ten minutes and a couple of name drops later, Jack and Bitty were in an Uber back to the apartment with assurances that everything would be handled by Boston PD. Thirty minutes after that, Jack tossed Bitty onto their bed with a request to continue swearing a blue streak, and Bitty, still incensed from the accident and Jack’s reaction, was happy to oblige.

#ask #Anonymous #my fic #tw: car accident

[zaddyzimmermann]

Hot Off The Press

Another AU where Jacky-Boy is a hockey player and Bitty has a job that involves hockey bc that’s my aesthetic. Anyway, I really know nothing about how the world of sports journalism works so there is probably some inaccuracies in here, but it’s an AU so who cares. Artistic license and all that. Very slightly NSFW (i just wanted to get all the warnings out there). 

***

“Are you into men?”

Jack has been asked this question before, but in such a subtle way (and typically involving Parson) that it’s easy to avoid. No reporter has ever straight out asked him. Besides, he’s not gay. He’s bisexual. So when Jack usually tells them, “No.” it’s not a lie. However, this time it feels different. Maybe it wasn't just this particular time, but all the times added onto each other that's finally causing him to really think about what hole he's digging himself into.

The blunt question has him feeling panicky and the other presser notice his reaction too. Jack can’t say no, because that’s not true. He is into men. Jack’s panic quickly shifts, and now he just feels like shoving the microphones away and storming out, because this is hockey goddammit. Not E! news.

“Excuse me?” Jack clears his throat, trying to buy himself some time to think of a properly crafted response. Over the years, he's developed a talent for that.

But everything is on overdrive and he feels his breath start to quicken again--

“Are you into men?” Another reporter asks, and it takes Jack a moment to realize that the reporter isn’t asking him. He’s asking the man who popped the question in the first place.

 All attention, including Jack’s, turns to the small blonde that got lost in the bundle of people. He holds up his mic towards the reporter who popped the question in the first place. 

“Excuse me?” The man mimics Jack, but not intentionally. The man actually looks quite offended to be asked in the first place.

“You don’t like being asked such a personal question do you, Tom?” This reporter has a southern accent that makes him stand out even more among the various presser.

“Shut up, Eric. You’re wasting time as usual--”

“I beg to differ.” Eric snorts. “Last time I checked we are supposed to ask Mr. Zimmermann about his win against Pittsburgh, yet here you are, wasting time asking about something irrelevant to your job. Which is reporting on hockey games.”

Jack suddenly realizes that the two men about ready to attack each other know one another, possibly on a level outside of their jobs. It was an assumption, but they did use first names. Jack has never, in all his three years of being in the NHL, witnessed a fight break out between two reporters mid-interview. Jack just stands there awkwardly, feeling gross and sweaty as the adrenaline from his recent win dies down. 

“Anyway,” Eric Bittle bristles, shouldering his way to the front where he can hold his microphone in front of Jack. “I do believe you scored the winning goal just twenty minutes ago. Very nice. How do you think the remainder of the season is looking?” It sounds like Eric is trying to hide his accent, and Jack is temporarily distracted by his big brown eyes. Then he gets himself together, like he always does, and talks about what he’s good at: Hockey.

***

The second time the same sports reporter defends him, it’s when Pittsburgh beats them on home ice. It’s been at least two months since Jack has even heard about the guy. Eric Bittle writes very little articles, but is used as a credible source for dozens of others.

“Do you think your overdose set you back? With your talent, you could have surpassed your father in records by now.”

It was certainly a backhanded compliment, and it’s not the first time someone has said this to him. Although some days, especially today, Jack really isn’t in the mood. It’s so irrelevant to the subject at hand, it is blatantly disrespectful. However, just as Jack nearly snaps, a familiar voice speaks up from the back.

“That didn’t sound like a question.” Eric Bittle, in all his southern glory, has once again popped up from the shadows when Jack needed it most. “You’re also proposing quite a speculation there, Tom. Like always.” 

“Oh my fu- You’re so unprofessional, Bittle!” Tom, Jack realizes, is the same reporter that gave him trouble last time. 

“Hey, I ain’t the one talkin’ about an offensive speculation.” Eric says breezily, focusing his attention back on Jack. “Alright, Mr. Zimmermann, that game seemed to be rough for you--”

“He didn’t answer my question.” Tom glares at Eric before practically shoving his own microphone in Jack’s face.

“Please don’t interrupt.” Jack suddenly says, eyes flickering to Eric, who had a pleasant and welcoming smile on his face.

“Right, as I was sayin.”

***

Thomas Caswell and Eric Bittle are known for having a feud in the world of social media. Jack couldn’t help look up both reporters, and the first thing that comes up is when Eric first defended Jack during a presser months ago. Thomas was in his early forties, while Eric was in his mid-twenties, basically just starting out. Eric Bittle and Thomas Caswell constantly went back and forth on twitter, and Thomas went as far to even bash Bittle in an article. Thomas is also known for asking the, “hard questions”, which is why he’s so popular. He’s famous for making athletes stumble on their words. Eric Bittle has called him out for that too.

“So, I had to stalk this Eric Bittle guy after what happened last night,” Shitty says, feet propped up on Jack’s coffee table and laptop resting on his naked lap. “The dude actually went to the University of Pennsylvania. That’s an ivy league school, man.”

“I know it’s an ivy league school. What does it matter, anyway?” Jack challenges, his tone a bit annoyed.

“For one, he seems like a fucking genius because he was Valedictorian, which explains how he got a job straight out of college. Second, It’s the reason he only seems to show up when you’re playing the Penguins. They probably picked him up right away.”

Jack doesn’t know why he’s so interested in this guy, but whenever Shitty pries it always piques his curiosity. “Is he with their PR team? I thought he worked for the NHL Network.” 

“He’s brand new, Jack. He was probably assigned to a specific team. He doesn’t typically interview the Penguins, he just interviews the teams they play against.” 

“Has he ever… Defended other players?”

Shitty sighs dramatically and closes his laptop. “It’s what he’s famous for, Jack-O. Why do you think they keep him around? If it were some random reporter that no one really knows, the guy would probably get canned.”

“Wouldn’t that mean he would have been fired already? Like in the beginning, when he first started out, they had no idea he would be famous.”

“He used to run a blog, that’s where they found him.”

Jack can’t help but laugh, and he gives Shitty a pointed look. “You sure know a lot about this guy.”

“I’m a lawyer, Jack.” Shitty pats his arm. “I’m great at stalking people.”

“How do those two things even correlate?”

“You’d be surprised.”

***

The past four games have been a loss for the Providence Falconers, so when Jack and his team lose to Pittsburgh again in overtime after coming so close… He’s in a terrible mood.

However, Jack is the captain and he’s required to give a statement on how hard they worked, and reassure fans that they will keep the spot they currently hold in their division, which will send them to the playoffs.

It’s been about a minute of legitimate questions, ones that are easy to answer because they involve hockey and teamwork. Then, Thomas Caswell (of course), says something so over the top Jack just stared in shock.

“Your performance has been less than usual lately. There has been intense speculation that you might have reverted back to drugs --”

“You have got to be kidding me, Tom.” Jack isn’t surprised it’s Eric Bittle who steps in. “I didn’t hear the word hockey, puck, or overtime once in that sentence.” Eric Bittle’s voice is strained, and Jack is surprised with how angry the man looks on Jack’s behalf.

“Not this again, Bittle.” Tom hisses, his eyes not wavering from Jack’s. “You should be fucking grateful they even let you in here.”

Jack didn’t know what Tom meant by that, but by the look on Eric’s face, he sure did. “You’re a joke. Who let you be a sports reporter, Tom?” Bittle counters, his voice extremely passive aggressive to a point it’s almost scary. “You should work for People magazine with all these rumors you’re tryna spread. I feel like that’s where you belong with this cheap type of reporting--.”

Jack didn’t expect it, and neither did anyone else in the locker room. Eric didn’t expect it either, guessing by his reaction. Jack has never, not even fathomed, a reporter using physical violence on another reporter.

The punch wasn’t meant to break anything, but it wasn’t any less violent. It hit Eric’s nose, so the younger man dropped his microphone as he held a hand over his face.

To no one’s surprise, Thomas Caswell is escorted out as Eric stares after him, still stunned.

“That was rude.” Eric mutters, and Jack is so thrown off by Eric’s dismissive reaction he chuckles a little bit.

The whole situation was almost unheard of, but it didn’t take long for the Falconers PR to clean up the situation. Eric Bittle was escorted by the team trainer to get patched up, while the other presser were escorted out of the locker room. 

“Seems like you have fan, Zimmboni.” Tater laughs, slapping a hand on Jack’s back while shaking him a little. “You go make sure he is okay.”

Jack will, but he takes a shower first. He probably smells disgusting and looks it too.

By the time Jack is dressed and his stuff is packed, he checks to see if Eric Bittle is still around. Of course, he prefers that he isn’t because Jack hates this type of confrontation, or just confrontation in general.

Bittle is sitting on the edge of the examination table, swinging his feet back and forth while he scrolls through his phone. Jack clears his throat, because he doesn’t want to say the first word. Eric glances up and a small smile plays on his face. He has a bandage across his nose and it looks a little bruised. “Hello there, Mr. Zimmermann. What brings you in here?” His voice is a slightly nasally from the pressure wrapped around it.

“I wanted to see if you were, uh, doing okay…” Jack leans on the doorframe, watching Eric Bittle’s face go through several different scenarios.

“That’s awfully kind of you. I’m doing alright, though. It’s not even broken.” Eric Bittle hops off the table and walks over to Jack, extending a hand. “Nice to officially meet you.”

Jack glances down at the hand for a few moments before shaking it. It feels small in his, but extremely warm. “It’s nice to finally meet the man who defends me all the time.”

Eric gives him a laugh as he pulls away his hand. “If you look at it from my perspective, I’m here to talk about hockey not about your personal life. That’s your business.”

“You are the only one who seems to think so.” Jack doesn’t mean it to come out bitter, but he can’t help it.

“That’s because I’m the best of the best, Mr. Zimmermann. I only focus on actual news, not that junk I like to call gossip.”

Jack gives him a genuine smile, but he also isn’t reckless. This man was still a reporter afterall, and the presser were sneaky. Parse almost got caught sucking someone off months ago, because a reporter pretended to be a man who knew nothing about hockey.

Eric seems to notice his change in demeanor, but he doesn’t say anything. “I’m really okay, I ain’t gonna go suing your organization or anything. I’ve dealt with bullies all my life, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

Jack can’t help himself but frown, because Eric Bittle didn’t seem like the type of person to piss people off. According to Shitty, he actually has a large fanbase of people relying on his work.

“Wipe that look off your face.” Eric laughs, and the warmth of it genuinely stuns Jack for a moment. There didn’t seem anything condescending about the way Eric spoke to him, and Jack has heard the passive-aggressive Eric Bittle several times. “I figured you knew why he said I was “lucky to be in the locker room”. Which is so a thing a forty year old man would say.”

“Is it because you’re new?” Jack tries, but Eric only shakes his head.

“It’s because I’m gay.” Eric waits for a reaction from Jack, but Jack doesn’t know why. Then he slowly realizes why Eric looked so upset right before Tom punched him. “Listen, Tom asking you about your sexual preferences all the time just so he can make some offensive speculation makes me and a lot of people really angry. He also thinks it’s ‘unprofessional’ for me to be in men’s locker rooms. I’m surprised I haven’t punched him yet, to be honest.”

“You don’t deserve to be treated that way.” Jack says bluntly. He’s never one for subtlety.

Eric falters for a moment, and Jack becomes tense again. He’s a reporter. Be careful. “No one does, really.” Jack adds.

“You’re a good guy, Mr. Zimmermann.” Bittle finally says after a long pause, then pats his chest. “Just remember, the questions we ask don’t always need an answer. You’re a hockey player, not a reality TV star.”

***

Providence doesn’t play Pittsburgh until both teams are fighting for a spot in the final round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. They were playing on Penguins’ home ice, and in the end, Pittsburgh won by two goals.

Jack has been close to winning the cup before, but never this close. His team is usually kicked out in the first or second round, but this is the first time he’s ever held onto hope for a win.

Jack looks for Eric this time, but he’s not there. He must be with Pittsburgh right now, considering how big of a win this was. Jack didn’t like himself searching for the blonde, because he knew what that meant. He’s not as oblivious to his attraction as he used to be.

Before Jack can wallow in self pity after the loss, Tater drags him to a local bar to try and cheer him up. Jack typically doesn’t drink (because once an addict always an addict) or dance, especially during times like these, but Tater’s loud and optimistic attitude always seems to cheer him up just a little bit, so he gives in. Besides, Tater on the dance floor is a form of entertainment all in its own.

Nevermind.

Even though there are dozens of people here, they still get recognized. Jack and Tater have only been here for thirty minutes, and people can’t seem to leave them alone. Tater likes the company, because fans keep buying him free alcohol even though he doesn’t have to worry about expenses. A girl slides in their booth to settle herself next to Jack, and even though he admires the boldness of her move, it wasn’t welcomed. The last thing Jack wanted was to get involved with someone right now--

 “Mr. Zimmermann? I didn’t peg you for a party boy.”

Jack has never seen Eric in something other than a suit and perfectly kept personna. But of course, because the universe wants him to die a little, Eric is wearing skin tight jeans and tight white shirt that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. For a reporter, Eric is in pretty good shape. His blonde hair is tousled and he looks a little flushed.

 The girl was gone, and Jack wanted nothing more than for Eric Bittle to replace the empty space next to him. Tater was gone and lost in the crowd, probably dancing and entertaining like he usually does. Jack planned on sitting here the entire night so he could drive him home safely… But Eric Bittle seemed like extremely nice company right now.

“Mind if I take a seat?” Eric raises an eyebrow, and Jack only shrugs as he tries not to stare but Crisse....

God dammit.

“I’d buy you a drink, but I’m assuming you’re the designated driver?” Eric holds his head in his hand, giving Jack his undivided attention.

“You’d be assuming right.” Jack says, but he doesn’t continue. He doesn’t really know what’s going on here, and he feels like the two of them are in an awkward equilibrium of assumptions. Jack knows the wheels were turning inside of Eric Bittle’s head, but in no way was Bittle about to make the first move. 

“You weren’t at the presser today.” Jack says to break the silence.

Eric’s smile becomes more flirtatious and Jack is momentarily distracted, but he lets Eric’s voice bring him back in. “Did you miss me, Mr. Zimmermann?”

Jack really doesn’t know how to answer that. He wants to trust this man, and from Shitty’s research he doesn’t seem like the sneaky reporter that nearly cost Kent his career. “Tom wasn’t there to attack me today.” 

“Yeah, he was fired.” Bittle shrugs absently, like it was no big deal. “Thank god he’s gone. Maybe some gossip magazine will pick him up.” 

Jack can’t help but laugh, and he also can’t help that he notices the way Eric lights up. He really, really wanted to take him back to his hotel room. It was a stupid idea, though. He would be outing himself to a man he hardly knows. Besides, Tater hates Ubers so Jack had to make sure he got back safely.

“I heard you’re a genius.” Jack just wanted something to say, because the same silence settled over them again. His face grew immediately warm, though. He basically just admitted he stalked Bittle online.

Eric doesn’t seem to think that, or he’s just really good at hiding the fact he does. His face grows red too, and he avoids Jack’s eyes. “Not really, I mean, it’s all relative.”

“You shouldn’t downplay your achievements.” Jack points out honestly.

“Neither should you.” Eric retaliates. “I know people compare you to your father all the time, and I know me saying this will probably have no affect on you, but you are your own person, Jack. Just because other people compare you two, doesn’t mean you should too.”

Jack, once again, has no idea how to reply to that. For one, he’s a bit annoyed that Eric has made that assumption. Second, he’s also annoyed that Eric is right about that assumption. He says the first thing that helps him deflect his own feelings. “Are you going to put this in an article?” Jack sounds extremely irritated to his own ears, and he internally cringed at that.

Eric raises an eyebrow that tells Jack he’s surprised by the accusation. “Off the record. Didn’t realize that needed to be said. If you don’t see me with a recorder and a mic, I’m off the job. I’m not always working, Jack.”

Jack opens his mouth to maybe apologize for reacting that way, thinking Bittle is mad at him, but Eric just gives him a soft smile.

“I didn’t mean to be intrusive. I’ll leave you be. I didn’t think you might some alone time, I kind of just sat down--” Bittle gets up from the seat across from Jack, and makes his way to be swallowed up by the crowd, but Jack stops him before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“Wait. I got nervous.” Then Jack makes another decision, one he’s probably going to regret later. Jack slides over in the booth, indicating for Eric to join him. Right now, with Eric Bittle in those tight jeans, he doesn’t care about his stupid decision at the moment.

Eric is discreet when he slides in next to Jack. He’s not too close, just in case someone snaps a picture, but he presses his foot against Jack’s calf under the table. When Jack doesn’t move it away, Eric takes that as encouragement.

“Some of those rumors aren’t just rumors.” Jack says quietly, leaning his head slightly towards Eric. “They just aren’t people’s business.”

“Hmm.” Eric hums, trying to read Jack’s face. “That kind of makes me not want to stay here.”

Jack raises an eyebrow in confusion, not quite understanding what he was saying.

Eric pulls away and stands up, and just as Jack’s stomach drops, he turns towards him with a small smirk on his face. “I think we should leave.” 

***

Jack is the first to wake up, and as the sun filters in, he expects Eric’s place beside him to be empty. It’s not, though. His eyes are closed and he looks peaceful, and the sun that hits his blonde hair makes Eric Bittle look impossibly warm.

Jack waited for the wave of regret to hit him, but it never came. Especially when Eric’s eyes fluttered open and a small smile stretched across his face. “You look happy this morning.” 

Jack laughs a little. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Eric just yawns as he does a half-hearted shrug. “It wouldn’t be the first time I was promptly told to leave. I’m kind of used to it by now.”

That kind of ruins Jack’s mood, because Eric Bittle didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. He tells him as much, too.

“I know.” Eric smiles as his eyes roam over Jack’s bare chest and back up towards his face again. His eyes must catch something he doesn’t like, because now a frown is on Eric’s face. “Oh lord, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Jack isn’t aware what he’s even talking about until Eric reaches over and places two fingers on Jack’s neck. The pressure causes Jack to wince a little.

“You have concealer?” Eric gives him a playful look, and Jack can’t help but return the same look.

“No, but I’ll wear a scarf.” Jack jokes without realizing it.

Eric laughs at that, which mon dieu, is that a wonderful sound to hear first thing in the morning. He glances at the clock over Jack’s shoulder, and the joy is gone as his face fills with disappointment. “Ugh. I need to get to work in two hours.” He pauses, contemplating something, before he asks, “You want to join me in the shower?”

And that’s a “Yes.” without hesitation. In the shower, Jack felt a stinging pain on his back and discovered several scratch marks that broke his skin.

“Sorry.” Eric’s face was really red and Jack couldn’t help but laugh.

They get off one more time in the shower, even though Jack protests when Eric drops to his knees.

“That’s going to hurt later--”

And Eric had replied before Jack even finished speaking, “Shut up, Zimmermann.”

Eric waits at the door in the clothes he wore last night, and gives Jack a sad look. “I’m gonna miss you, Zimmermann.”

Jack feels his stomach drop. “Why? Are you moving or something?”

Eric raises an eyebrow as he places a soft hand on Jack’s cheek. “I was under the impression this was a one time thing.”

“No way.” Jack can’t help but laugh at Eric’s surprised expression. “I’ll text you.”

“But--” Eric frowns. “I don’t see you that often and you have your career and I’m certainly not worth a career like yours and technically you are my job which is unprofessional--”

Jack cuts off his rambling with a quick kiss, but Bittle deepens it anyway so they are making out for a full five minutes before Jack finishes his thought. “If you don’t want to, I’ll leave you alone--”

“Yeah, no chance I’m giving up this prime opportunity.” Eric’s smile is so bright, Jack can’t help but mirror it. “You better text me, Zimmermann.”

“Oh, I will.”

***

There will probably be a part 2 if ya’ll want one. Or if you wanna send me other jobs you wanna see Bitty with I’ll do that too lol

#eric bitty bittle #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #jack x bitty #zimbits #omgcheckplease #omgcp #alexei mashkov #providence falconers

[afoolforatook]

Pi Day

So in honor of Pi day, and in memory of a teacher of mine who called it her favorite holiday, I found something I wrote back in July and decided to clean it up and post it. 

Happy Pi day y’all! <3 <3

Bitty's pin # is 3141. 

He’s got an alarm set on his phone that silently pops up a pie emoji at 3:14 pm.

He is especially pleased when he times it just right so that he's pulling a pie out of the oven right at exactly 3:14 pm (and admittedly sometimes am).

He's got the silly dream of living at 314 [insert street] one day, and putting pie stamps on all his mail. 

At home in Georgia there was never actually much celebration on March 14th, though Moomaw would always make sure to bake a special pie with him for dinner that night. 

But once Bitty started spending so much time at (and eventually living in) the Haus he decided to start going all out. 

So every year the Haus is decorated for Pi day and Bitty bakes one of each of his pies, each year creating a new signature Pi Day Pie, and the team has dinner together.                                                                                             After the first year the team started to make their own little crafty decorations to give to bitty to use. Pie coloring pages were stuck to the fridge. Holster wrote a song, that he is allowed to perform ONCE each year. Shitty wraps streamers around everything, including outside (Ransom and Holster insist on racing every year to see who can get the most down in ten minutes).              Chowder suggests, mostly as a joke, that they have a pie crown and give it each year to the Pi Day MVP. Dex and Nursey fight for it that year but once Tango shows up no one else really stands a chance.                                 Lardo made a banner to hang above the kitchen door every year, and when she graduated she surprised Bitty with a scrapbook she’d made (pictures supplied by Jack) with sketches she’d drawn each year, a few pieces of Nursey’s writing, and handwritten notes from everyone about their favorite Pi day memory. Bitty ugly cries and all but insists that no one touches it without gloves.

It’s probably Bitty’s favorite holiday. Because it's always his.

It's not about hiding himself from family or religious tension or historical context, and it never has been. It’s always been this.  

 Just him and his makeshift family of weirdos all dusted in a layer of flour and smiling over pie. 

It's warm and just happy, no melancholy to it.

Bitty's senior year Jack, Shitty, Ransom, Holster, and Lardo all come down and they have Bitty's traditional Pi day dinner. The frogs and Tadpoles, and by this time the Tadpoles gen 2, set everything up beforehand so that right after dinner they could drag Bitty to Faber where he finds everything perfectly put together. 

Lights and pucks line up leading to center ice, where everyone's grouped around a gorgeous table of pies. One of every pie that bitty had taught them to make over the years (a few of the more difficult ones they had requested he make for Pi day and then snuck them out of the Haus. Johnson had volunteered to undertake the dangerous task of actually stealing the pies, and had managed to do so every single time without being caught, or strangely, without Bitty even seeming to notice anything missing), all centered around a stand of mini pies that were obviously made by Jack (he’d finally mastered the lattice work and had forced himself not to proudly tell Bitty immediately) who was oddly missing from the group. 

The frogs and taddies walk with Bitty out to the others as a Beyoncé mix plays over the speakers and he excitedly hugs everyone, admiring their pies, before finally asking “Where’s Jack?”                                                                               Shitty smirks and is about to say something when Lardo roughly pushes him aside, with an elbow jab to his hip signalling that now was the time to /shut up/, and says "He said George called him and needed to talk about something real quick but that he'd come straight here after."

Bitty nods and the party resumes as Rans and Holster pull him away to dance, bragging about their efforts to make the perfect mix. Bitty dances and mingles and tastes everyone’s pies until a new song starts and his ears prick at those first few familiar notes.  

And as the lights dim Bitty turns around and realizes that everyone's moved off to the sides. 

And suddenly it's Freshman year again and Bitty's getting ready for his first game. He’s standing alone on the ice and it's scary and loud and wow this is really happening, this is actual college hockey and this is serious. And then Jack Zimmermann skates out onto the ice in that stark red jersey, C emblazoned on his chest, clean white 1 on his sleeves, his face set. But this isn't freshman year. And the look on Jack's face definitely isn't the one he had back then. This was determination yes, but softer too. It was loving, humble, good lord maybe even scared. Because this isn't Jack Zimmermann, Captain of the Samwell Men's Hockey Team,skating onto the ice for a game. This is Jack Zimmermann, member of the Providence Falconers, skating towards the man he loves.       

 And sweet mother fucking lord he's beautiful and he's stopping right in front of Bitty and giving him that perfect smile that makes him looks so young and soft and squeezes Bitty’s heart in a way that once hurt so much, but now seems to put the world into a little bit better focus. 

And then he's kneeling and he's saying something that honestly Bitty can't even start to hear. And then there's a glint of smooth metal and Bitty's falling to kiss him and saying “yes of course you beautiful sap what in the world is this who are you how did I get you”

And what follows is the most enthusiastic, intense, emotional celly pile in SMH history. 

A few days later Bitty finds an envelope taped to his door with Pi day pictures and a note from Johnson inside that reads

“Thought you could put these in the scrapbook. 

Congrats again!                               

P.S: What about Bittlemann? The fans seem to like it. Though ‘Jack Bittle’ is quite popular as well. Just putting it out there. You guys do you! 

-As always, your bro,

John Johnson.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

#omgcp #omgcp fanfic #check please fanfic #zimbits #Pi Day #also #tango gave johnson the crown this year #my writing #afoolforatook