#eric 'it's a long engagement mama' bittle

[ohdannybcy]

DANIEL “DANNY” GRAY is a 23 year old from BEAUMONT, living in Beaumont for the past 18 YEARS, MOVED AWAY FOR COLLEGE & MOVED BACK ABOUT 9 MONTHS AGO. HE is a FIFTH GRADE TEACHER AT BEAUMONT ELEMENTARY and in his downtime loves CREATING CONTENT/ MAKEUP TUTORIALS FOR HIS YOUTUBE CHANNEL and BAKING. He looks an awful lot like TROYE SIVAN.

TW: gaslighting, manipulation, general gross ex boyfriends 

so first things first: danny is a local boiy. his family has been in beaumont for generations and they’ll probably end up staying there for generations more. his dad was a high school government/history teacher and a football coach and his mom taught third grade, both who retired within the last few years. danny’s the youngest of four and was a bit of a surprise baby, coming along after his older siblings were all teenagers/preteens. because of the large age gap between them, he isn’t really that close with his siblings but there’s definite love and acceptance in abundance in that family. 

danny came out to his family at fourteen as gay though it really came as no surprise to any of them— danny was a bit of a walking gay cliché. the world was the danny show growing up- there are heaps of home videos of little danny wearing his sister’s beauty queen tiaras and his mama’s high heels singing dolly parton and leann rimes into the handle of the vacuum cleaner and countless other expressions of his inner diva. there was never a second where danny doubted that his family still loved and accepted him regardless of who he was attracted to. 

danny started a youtube channel when he was fourteen just as a fun thing to do where he would talk about being a young gay man in the middle of small town tennessee, his friends, high school, family and everything in between. it wasn’t until he started to express himself with make up and fashion- creating make up tutorials and sewing tutorials ( classic thrift store finds that were turned into something more Glamorous ) that his channel started to gain more traction. it’s not huge but he’s got a solid following and he’s kept his channel going through college and now as an adult. 

when he was fifteen, danny tried out for the beaumont high school cheerleading squad and was on it until he graduated. he’d taken gymnastics when he was younger- a way for him to channel so much of that excess energy he had- and flourished as a tumbler and had the full body strength and control that made him an asset no matter what position of a stunt he was in. most of the time he was a back- the control system of the stunt- but he also spent time as a flyer due to his smaller stature. 

his reputation of being a walking cliche only became more apparent when he started dating the quarterback- a cheerleader and the quarterback, how many times have we heard this story? jackson- or, as danny affectionately called him, jj- was everything that a first love was supposed to be and it was the sort relationship that gets written about in teenage romance novels. even their parents were convinced this was a Forever Thing. 

however whenever those college acceptance letters came in, life had a different plan. long distance wasn’t feasible and there was a mutual respect of the other and wanting them to be able to go off and experience everything that college had to offer without the ball and chain of a boyfriend waiting several states away. 

danny left to attend college at the university of mephis, initially pursuing a degree in fashion design. the demands of the course though paired with a dip in his mental health- being away from home for the first time in a place where he knew no one, still getting over the break up with jackson-  had him changing majors at the end of his freshman year to elementary education. 

that was the start of an upswing for danny- he felt comfortable and happy in his new major, a new focus on what he wanted to do with his life, friends and a community in memphis and, the icing on the cake, a new boyfriend. jonathan was charming and made danny feel like the most important person in the world. that first year was everything he wanted it to be but not long after they moved in together things started to change. 

jonathan started spending more time out with his friends, making a point to mention that danny was not included, staying out all night and coming home smelling like other people. any time that danny tried to confront him about this, jonathan would turn it around on danny, putting the blame on him and manipulating him into thinking it was all in his head or that it was his fault- that he wasn’t doing enough to keep his boyfriend loyal. the relationship wasn’t healthy and danny was so deeply entrenched in the lies that jonathan told him, wanting only to believe what he was being told ( that he was just being crazy, that nothing was really going on ) that he allowed himself to even be swept up in an engagement that would be broken by jonathan a few months before graduation.

the broken off engagement, though would be MUCH better in the long run, destroyed danny. it was with the help of awesome friends who helped move him out of the apartment and let him couch surf and constantly supported him until graduation that he kept his head above water. the second the graduated, he packed up his car and drove home, needing a fresh start in a place that was familiar. 

he started teaching fifth at beaumont elementary in august and at first, he’d honestly been apprehensive. he’d always wanted to teach younger kids- first through third grade- ‘before they discover talking back’. the last few months teaching though have been life changing and he loves his job- his principal and other teachers are wonderful and his kids are Everything.

A COUPLE OF JUST LIL TIDBITS ABOUT DANNY

CHARACTER INSPIRATION: jonathan van ness & tan france (queer eye), eric ‘bitty’ bittle (omgcp), felix dawkins (orphan black)

danny still wears makeup every day and takes great pride in his appearance. basically, he vain as fuck. when he first started experimenting with make up and clothing, it was definitely in some way to be very Out with who he was— think like those classic scene neon colors in eyeshadows and bright pink lips. and oh yeah, he definitely had the chucks in ever color. as he’s gotten older, his sense has definitely grown and now he looks back at those pictures and cringes. 

he’s still very active!! he goes to the gym for the treadmill and machines sometimes but most of his physical activity is walking around the high school track with his mama on nights- she does it to keep herself fit and he does it to keep her company. he keeps toying with the idea of teaching tumbling or cheer classes on week nights/weekends but it hasn’t become a real thing as of yet. 

he has a bright yellow ‘68 volkswagen beetle that is his baby.

baking is a stress reliever for him so friends be prepared for gifts of cookies, pies and banana bread. 

he’s super social!! he’ll talk to anyone and he’ll talk your ear off. honestly, don’t be afraid to tell him to shut up because you’ll be lucky if you can get a word in edgewise.

danny loves to dance- he doesn’t care if you’re a guy or a gal, he’ll still spin you across the floor and have one helluva time doing it. 

even though danny is very effeminate in his day to day, he’s still a country boy. he loves fishing, shooting ( not a big hunter, just never really enjoyed killing animals for sport ) and camping- though, let’s be real, no one prefers sleeping in a tent over a camper. he doesn’t like to get dirty and messy but he absolutely can and will have a blast doing so.

church had always been a big part of danny’s life growing up and even after coming out, he still went every time the doors were open with his family. his attendance dropped off during college but since coming home, he’s back in the pew every sunday. 

A COUPLE POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS ( FOR THOSE OF YOU BRAVE ENOUGH TO GET THIS FAR) 

HIGH SCHOOL CONNECTIONS;; small town means that everyone and their mom knows you. was your character a few years older or younger or graduated the same time? maybe they were friends, enemies, rivals, acquaintances, teammates, or math class buddies? maybe they went to school with one of danny’s siblings or were even a friend who dealt with annoying lil brother danny being in everything? i’m up for anything you can come up with on this! 

SCHOOL PARENTS;; maybe your character has a kid or younger sibling in danny’s class! 

NEIGHBORS;; danny lives in a lil apartment complex in town so!! anyone who also happens to be living in an apartment hmu and say howdy neighbor! 

FELLOW TEACHERS;; listen danny needs friends to go out for drinks at the catfish on fridays after school. happy hour margaritas anyone? 

HONESTLY ANYTHING ELSE YALL CAN COME UP WITH I’M HERE FOR IT! 

#bmontintro #( × intro. × ) — it’s all a part of me & that’s who i am. #gaslighting tw #this only took 3 thousand years RIP

[halfabreath]

Ooo what about BBB and “I’m gonna lunch a pumpkin”? 🌸

thanks you so much for the amazing prompt! i’m assuming you meant “punch a pumpkin” so i went with that! sorry it’s a little late, but hopefully you’re still in the thanksgiving mood.

Bittle Birkholtz Brousins: the masterpost, the tag, ao3

NOVEMBER 24, 2004

“But Mama –” Eric protests, socked feet trying and failing to find traction on the hardwood floors as Suzanne pushes him down the hallway. “I don’t want to sit with him!” He says, brutal honesty winning the day over forced hospitality.  At eight years old he’s not tall or strong enough to resist her but he leans back anyway, reaching out in an attempt to catch the crown molding with his fingertips to use as a grip.

“Dicky,” Mama scolds, hands firm but gentle on his shoulders. “You’re gonna sit with your cousin and you’re gonna be civil.” She comes to a stop just before the threshold to the kitchen, where the dreaded kid’s table is waiting for him. Mama turns him around and kneels, reaching out to straighten Eric’s bow tie. “I know y’all don’t get along but Dicky, you have to be a good host. He’s family and he’s new here.” Eric frowns, but she turns him and again and pushes him through the door before he can protest.

The kitchen, only recently vacated by his aunts and grandparents, seems strangely empty. The smells of the day have mingled together in an appetizing menagerie of poultry, sugar, and spices, but even the grumbling in Eric’s stomach isn’t incentive enough to take the only open seat.

“Be a good host,” he mumbles under his breath. “Be a good host.” Eric takes a fortifying breath and walks across the kitchen to take a seat next to his new cousin. There are only four chairs at the table, two of which are occupied by his Uncle Roy’s twin daughters. They’re only six but they’re well behaved and still tired from their nap, sitting quietly as they eat their dinner. They’re even chewing with their mouths closed, which is more than Adam can do, apparently.

Adam doesn’t speak when he settles in, cheeks bulging with food as he chews. Both his elbows are planted on the table and his long legs are splayed beneath the table, his knee encroaching on Eric’s space. Eric presses his legs together and starts spooning food onto his plate, arranging each dish carefully in a neat circle. He glances at Adam’s plate, wincing when he sees everything piled up in the middle of the plate in an unsightly mound of conflicting textures. Eric turns his attention back to his neat plate and carefully ladles gravy into the divot he’d carved out of his mashed potatoes. He pours in just enough so it flows out one side, spilling directly onto the turkey. He glances back at Adam’s plate, noticing that his mashed potatoes are naked. Be a good host.

“Would you like gravy, Adam?” Eric asks, holding out the chipped gravy boat he insists on using. It’s Mama’s old one and she always tries to throw it away, saying it’s too cracked to be used by guests, but Eric loves the intricate, if faded, design painted along the sides. Adam glances over at him, briefly, before turning his attention back to his plate with a firm shake of his head. Eric deflates and sets it down.

In movies - not that there are many Thanksgiving movies - but in movies or TV shows or commercials Eric’s seen the kid’s table is a rowdy affair. Not so at the Bittle-Birkholtz Thanksgiving - Coach and Mama have two siblings each but only Uncle Roy and Aunt Judy have kids so they didn’t even have to adjust the four chairs that usually sit around the kitchen table. The kitchen is quiet as the cousins eat, only the soft scraping of silverware against the ceramic plates disrupting the silence. Eric works his way around his plate, mixing flavors and textures appropriately. Beside him, Adam shovels food into his mouth, mixing up everything on his plate until the food is mashed up together in a disgusting gray lump. They only look up from their food when footsteps echo down the hallway from the dining room, their gaze trained on the entrance as Adam’s father appears. He almost fills the door frame; he’s the tallest one in the family by far.

“Hey, Eric, Hannah, Alexandra.” He greets warmly, a smile peeking out from his thick blonde beard. Eric gives him a little wave, which he returns. “Adam, I have to head to the airport to make my flight but your stepmom will give you a ride home in a few hours, okay?” Uncle Jacob’s voice is soft, gentle in a way Coach’s rarely is. Adam just nods and looks back down at his food, dragging his fork through his mashed potatoes. When Eric looks back Uncle Jacob is frowning but the expression quickly smooths over when he sees that Eric is watching. He waves again and disappears. Adam’s up in a flash, the chair squeaking sharply as he pushes it back suddenly. His long limbs flail as he runs across the small kitchen, loud footsteps coming to a stop just outside the door.

“Dad,” Adam says, voice easily carrying through the kitchen. “Can you drop me off at home before you go? Please?” He asks, desperation undercutting every word. Even so, Eric glares at the part of the wall he knows Adam is standing behind. How rude and selfish and inconsiderate after everyone worked so hard making the food he’d barely touched.

“Adam, no –” Uncle Jacob says immediately. Good. At least Uncle Jacob has manners, even if he hadn’t passed them on to his son.

Adam’s not deterred, though. “Please, Dad.” He whines, and Eric huffs in annoyance. Doesn’t he know everyone in the kitchen can hear him? Their girls aren’t paying attention but Eric certainly is.

Eric’s gaze drops to the shadows the father and son cast down the hall, just barely able to make out the movement of Jacob shaking his head. “No way. It’s bad enough I have to go to work.” He points out, and Eric agrees. At least he has to go fly a plane; it’s one of the better excuses Eric can think of to get out of a social engagement.

“Dad, I just want to go.” Adam says quietly. He sounds more restrained, like he’s trying to keep himself calm.

Jacob huffs out a soft laugh. “Why, so you can watch Friends re-runs? I don’t think so.” It sounds like he’s about to scold his son, and Eric knows it’s not polite to eavesdrop but it would be satisfying to hear his rude cousin called out on his poor behavior, so he straightens up in his chair and focuses on listening to the conversation happing outside the room.

Instead of an admonishment, he hears a soft sob. “I don’t – I don’t know anyone here.” Adam says, voice thick with tears, and suddenly, Eric doesn’t think this is very funny anymore. “I don’t fit in and no one likes me and they like, whisper when they think I can’t hear and ask me weird stuff and I just really, really want to go home.”

“Home to the house, or home to Buffalo?” Jacob’s gentle tone is back, sincere with worry, and Eric considers getting up to give them privacy but he can’t risk them hearing him move – then they’ll know he’s been eavesdropping for sure and Mama will be so disappointed in him. He hasn’t been a good host at all.

“I don’t know, maybe? Just somewhere that isn’t here.” Adam says, the words broken up by sniffs and sharp breaths. Eric looks around the kitchen, unable to imagine not wanting to be in his favorite place in the whole world. He wonders, absently, where  Adam’s favorite place is and if it’s even in Georgia at all.

There’s a rusting sound that Eric thinks might be hugging, and when he glances down the two shadows have merged into one giant one. “Adam,” Uncle Jacob says quietly, sounding almost as sad as Adam is. It’s strange; Eric didn’t think dads were supposed to get upset like that.

“Please.” Adam’s voice is muffled but Eric can just barely make out the word. He looks back down at his plate, ashamed that he’s been listening this whole time.

They’re quiet for a long moment until there’s more rusting and the shadows split into two separate forms again. “Son, I know this is hard. You’re in a new place with new people but they’re all family and they might not know what to say or what to do but they care about you. Besides, how do you think Judy would feel if you left?“ Uncle Jacob reasons.

There’s a pause and a short sniff before Adam responds. “Sad, maybe.” Adam mumbles, speaking softer than Eric’s ever heard him.

“Sad, definitely.” Uncle Jacob corrects. “She loves you so much, Adam. And I know you love her, too. This is the kind of stuff we do for people we love. Okay?” Eric shifts in his seat, wanting to give them privacy but two afraid of making noise to actually move.

Adam sniffs again and when he speaks his voice is steady. “Okay. For Judy.” He says. Eric relaxes, relieved he’s calmed down. He shoves a forkful of food into his mouth; he should have been eating this whole time. Hopefully Adam doesn’t notice when he’s come back and realize what he’s done.

“That’s my guy. I have to go, but I love you so, so much, kiddo.” Eric can hear Uncle Jacob’s smile in his voice. It’s weird to hear a dad admit it so readily. Mama says it often, but it’s a once a year admission from Coach.

“Love you too, Dad.” Adam says easily. Footsteps echo back down the hall. Eric’s not sure how long Adam stays in the hallway but when his cousin walks back in his eyes are dry and only a little red-rimmed. He picks up his fork but doesn’t eat.

“Hey,” Eric says suddenly. Adam looks over with flat eyes and a frown already on his lips. “I made a pie today, all by myself. Do you want to see?” He’s already jumping out of his chair but he just manages to catch Adam’s unconvincing shrug and nod combo. He carefully picks it up from the counter, the old tin still warm beneath his hands as he carries it over to the table. It’s slightly less perfect than he remembers it being when he’d pulled it out of the oven hours ago. The crust isn’t uniform in color, texture, or pattern and he can see precisely where little air bubbles had formed in the pumpkin filling, but it still smells amazing when he ducks his head to sniff it. Adam leans in after, still congested, but he gives Eric a little smile anyway.

“It looks really good.” He says slowly, like he has to convince himself to say the words at all. Maybe he does, and maybe that’s okay. Eric’s realizing he doesn’t know nearly as much about his cousin as he thought he did.

“Do you want to eat it?” Eric asks, and Adam nods before he even finishes he sentence. Adam searches around for new plates for all four of the cousins while Eric slices out four unequal but triangular slices. His hand wobbles as he transfers the slices to the plates but he doesn’t drop any of the pieces. Adam distributes them while he grabs the whipped cream, and they pass the container around until everyone’s ready to eat.

The girls eat quietly but Adam hums a second after his first bite, eyebrows raising in surprise. The bottom crust isn’t as crunchy as Mama’s pies and Eric thinks there’s maybe a little too much cinnamon, but even as the pie’s list of faults grows the other three people at the table keep on eating.

“You made this by yourself?” Adam asks halfway through his slice. He sounds impressed, and he actually turns to face Eric when he asks the question instead of staring down at his food.

Eric nods proudly. “Mama didn’t help me at all! She usually does but she was so busy today that I made it from scratch.” He knows it’s not polite to brag but Adam doesn’t seem off put. He actually pauses before his next bite, looking down at the piece on his fork thoughtfully.

“Cool.” Adam says, and takes another huge bite. He chews and swallows quickly. “It’s really good. You should make more.”

“More pumpkin pies?” He asks. Bitty hadn’t considered that. They’re only in season for one day of the year. Then again, Mama bakes almost every day, and he always likes helping her, so maybe he could do that, too.

“Any pie.” Adam says with a shrug, picking up the remaining crust with his fingers. Eric doesn’t think he’s ever seen any kind of food disappear that quickly before. It’s encouraging to see how Adam doesn’t seem to care about any of the flaws Eric has tallied up in his head. They’re actually getting along, too, so maybe he should start baking more. For the peace.

“Thanks,” he says, turning his attention back to his own slice. The flaws don’t seem to stand out as much anymore now that Adam’s reaching for another slice. The grownups pour into the kitchen soon after with empty plates and serving platters. Aunt Judy dances through the crowd until she reaches Adam’s side, immediately pulling him close. He goes easily, shoulders relaxing when she combs her fingers through his short hair.

“I’m sorry that took so long, sugar. I just need to get my stuff and then we can go home; your dad said you were tired.” She’s looking down at Adam in concern, brows knitting together the same way Mama’s do when she’s worried.

Adam glances down at the plate, at Eric, and then back up to his stepmother. “You don’t have to rush. I can stay longer.” He says easily, shrugging one shoulder casually. Eric looks over at him in surprise, but luckily neither Adam nor Judy see him.

“You sure?” Aunt Judy asks, brushing her knuckles over Adam’s cheek. Mama did the same thing when Eric had a fever a few months ago. Adam smiles and it looks genuine; Eric hopes it is.

“Yeah.” Adam says easily. He looks over at Eric and offers him a little smile. Eric returns it and picks up the pie plate, holding it out to the two of them. Aunt Judy and Mama both get slices but Adam eats most of it, accepting every slice Eric hands him.

TEN YEARS LATER.

“Yo, Bits! Bit-tay!” Holster’s booming voice carries through the Haus, growing louder as he thunders down the stairs from the attic. He’s yelling so loudly it almost dwarfs the sound of his feet thumping on the creaky floorboards. “B-Train! B-Titty! Itty Bit - ” He swings into the kitchen, face falling when he sees the chaos in the kitchen. Bitty’s kneeling on the linoleum floor, tears in his eyes and flour smeared over his cheek as he picks up the pieces of a ceramic pie plate. The entire contents of a bag of flour is spread out over the kitchen table, forming little white mountains and valleys. There are pumpkin guts smeared over the cabinets and a beautifully dressed but still completely raw turkey on the counter.

Adam’s not stupid enough to stomp over to Bitty and risk cutting his feet and legs on the many shards scattered over the kitchen floor, but he does spring into action. He slips on a pair of shoes and tiptoes through the mess until he can kneel in front of Bitty, who’s sniffing quietly as the gathers the pieces of the pie plate in his hands.

“Hey, Bits.” Holster says quietly, placing a careful hand on Bitty’s shoulder. His cousin looks up at him with wide, wet eyes, and Holster has to hold back every instinct he has to pull Bitty in for a crushing hug - his cousin is still holding ceramic shards, after all, and Holster doesn’t want either of them to get impaled. He leans back and just barely manages to grab onto the trashcan with his fingertips, dragging it over so Bitty can dump the shards into the trash. The moment his hands are free he buries his face in Holster’s shoulder, clinging to him with a strength that most people would find surprising.

Holster’s not most people, though, and he never underestimates his brousin. He wraps his arms around Bitty’s shoulders, rubbing up and down his back soothingly. “So, uh,” Holster begins, but before he can continue Bitty’s speaking a mile a minute, the words spoken against the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

The first burst comes out in a confusing jumble of muffled syllables Holster can’t make out, but when Bitty turns his head to take in a shaking gasp of air the words become clear. “And I didn’t put the blender lid on so the pie filling went everywhere and I was trying to clean it but then I dropped my pie pan and it’s one of the ones your mom lent me but when I was cleaning I forgot to put the turkey in and now Hausgiving is ruined and everyone will be mad and it’s my first Thanksgiving in the Haus and I just want them all to like the food!” Bitty’s voice gets higher and more frantic with each word, but Holster just holds him tightly until he’s finished speaking.

“First of all, everyone already likes the food.” Holster says calmly, knowing that when Bitty panics about people liking his food it’s rarely about the food itself. “They’ll like it because you made it! And because their only other option is cafeteria turkey and like, Bits. That’s not a high bar. That’s maybe the lowest of bars. It doesn’t have to be the best turkey in Massachusetts because these assholes wouldn’t appreciate it if it was.” Even with their history, Holster knows he’s guilty of this as well - just last week he’d dumped Sriracha on the fancy French scrambled eggs Bitty made, but in his defense, how was he supposed to know that Gordon Ramsey’s recipe was difficult to make? All eggs look the same! Holster shakes his head to clear his mind; he’s getting way off track. “Besides, Judy won’t be mad that the pie plate’s broken. Bro, you have no idea how much shit I’ve broken over the years. She’s totally used to it by now.”

Bitty sniffs against his chest and even though the trembling in his shoulders is ceasing Holster knows he has to step up his game. He glances around the kitchen, steady gaze traveling over the series of catastrophes that befell his cousin.

“Hey, tell me all the food that’s giving you trouble.” Holster says in a moment of inspiration. His top priority now is getting Bitty cheered up - Bitty’s freakishly productive in the kitchen under most circumstances, but sadness isn’t one of them.

Bitty finally looks up, swiping the back of his hand under his eye. “Why?” He asks, and Holster’s relieved to have his focus. His lips are still turned down in a sad little frown, but at least now he looks more intrigued than devastated.

“I’m gonna beat it up.” Holster says simply, like it’s a normal thing to do. Bitty’s mouth drops open in surprise.

“What?” He asks, doubting if he’s heard correctly. He sits back on his heels and scrubs away the last of his tears with the back of his hand, finally fixating on something besides the mess he’s in.

Holster nods seriously. “Bitty, I’m gonna kick the ass of each and every vegetable, mineral, or vitamin that’s caused you trouble today.” He says, clapping a heavy hand on Bitty’s shoulder. It’s comforting, because Holster, for all his loudness and snark, is inherently comforting as well, and Bitty can’t help but smile.

“What, you’re going to punch a pumpkin, or something?” He asks, grinning up at his stupid, brilliant, idiotic, hilarious cousin.

Holster’s eyes light up and he stands, assuming a fighting stance. It might be threatening if Bitty didn’t know his only reference was undoubtably Mortal Combat II. “I’m gonna punch a pumpkin, Bits, and you can’t stop me. I’ll drop kick that motherfucker right into the sky.” Holster’s getting into it now, waving his hands dramatically as his words grow more impassioned. He’s about to go full Cosmo Kramer, Bitty can tell, so he stands up and bats Holster’s hands out of the air.

“Please don’t murder my pie, Holster.” Bitty says, unable to keep from laughing even as he speaks.

Holster rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fine. But that pumpkin’s on thin fucking ice.” He points at the pumpkin rind and the orange mess that’s sprayed over the cabinets and wall, admonishing the vegetable forcefully. Bitty’s laughing when Holster’s phone chimes, and he pulls it out of his pocket to glance at the screen. “Hey, Ransom’s about to get coffee from Annie’s. You should go with him.” Holster says, and it’s clear from his tone that it’s not a suggestion, but Bitty just shakes his head.

“But I have so much to do! I can’t just leave! There’s the mess and the pie and the turkey and, and, there’s so much to do!” He protests, looking around at the mess that’s surrounding them. Something hot claws at the back of his throat as pressure begins to build behind his eyes again, but Holster steps in before he can start crying again.

Holster takes a step towards him, careful not to step on anything sharp. He settles both his big hands on Bitty’s shoulders. “But you can take a break. You’ll be gone fifteen minutes, tops, and when you get back I’ll have everything cleaned up so you can start fresh.” He says, using the soft tone Bitty rarely hears him use with anyone else besides his mothers or Ransom. He squeezes gently, a comforting pressure. “I’m pulling rank, Bitty. Get out of here.” He pushes Bitty gently towards the door, giving him plenty of time to step around the ceramic on the ground.

“Thank you, Adam.” Bitty says once he’s clear of the mess. His jacket is draped over one of the kitchen chairs and he can hear Ransom making his way downstairs as he shrugs it on his shoulders. Holster waves him off.

“No worries, brousin. This is the kind of shit we do for people we love.” Holster smiles and Ransom appears at the bottom of the steps before Bitty can reply. He looks into the kitchen, perfectly sculpted eyebrows raised in concern, but Holster just shakes his head once, a quick little motion, and Ransom immediately nods in acceptance. Bitty’s had his fair share of silent conversations with Holster but even he has to admit that they’re on a whole other freaky level.  "Now go get caffeinated and make sure Ransom only gets one extra shot of espresso. Oh, and Bits -“ Holster pauses just before Bitty opens the door.  "If I see you two do that fucking PSL handshake, I’m going to burn your turkey.” Holster threatens. Bitty laughs as he walks outside, Ransom right on his heels. Holster glances around the kitchen and gets to work, only stopping to make a quick call as he sweeps up the pie plate.

“Hey, Jude! Judy! Juju beans!” He greets, putting the call on loudspeaker before setting his phone on the counter. “What’s up? So, hypothetically, if I had to cook a turkey as quickly as possible, how would you, in your infinite wisdom, recommend doing that?”

#bbb #eric bitty bittle #adam holster birkholtz #bittle birkholtz brousins #noel writes #AND WE BACK #i fucking love this verse y'all #omgcp fanfic #check please fanfic #omgcp

[justlookfrightened]

Neighbors AU, Part 3: Chapter 7: Jan. 13-15: MLK Day weekend, Providence

Read it on AO3

Or read Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 or 6

Jack was running late. He was supposed to be picking up Eric’s parents -- people who rarely traveled more than driving distance from their home -- and he was late.

He’d told Eric last night that it would be fine, that he’d already cleared it with Mats that he had to leave morning skate in time to go to Logan to pick up the Bittles, so Eric wouldn’t have to abandon Sugar ‘n’ Spice once again, especially on a Saturday, the day he made the menus for the next week, placed orders for ingredients and in general made sure that everything was set to reopen after two days.

Mats had been fine with it. Eric usually slotted himself into Jack’s life so seamlessly that Jack was far less likely to ask for time off than any of his teammates, even after they started dating. That was his responsibility as captain, to lead by example, but surely a half-hour at the end of morning skate wouldn’t be slacking off too much.

Eric had been reluctant to accept Jack’s offer, and his mother almost flat-out refused.

“You tell that boyfriend of yours that we can make our way to Providence on our own, Dicky,” Suzanne said, voice loud and clear from where Eric’s phone sat on the dining room table.

“Does she know she’s on speaker?” Jack mouthed at Eric.

Eric shrugged.

“Mother, you are on speaker. Jack can hear you as well as I can,” Eric said.

“Then he can hear that I won’t have him putting himself out for us,” Suzanne said.

“But Mother, you are guests here, and it’s only right that someone meet you at the airport,” Eric said. “You wouldn’t want it to get back to Jack’s mother that you had to cope with getting to the train station, or you had to rent a car, when he could have met you like a proper host, would you? She might think it would reflect badly on her.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want Alicia to think that,” Suzanne said. “All right.”

Jack cursed the airlines for not having any direct flights from Atlanta to Providence, and the traffic for holding him up, and himself for not leaving the ice as soon as Mats pointed out that he really should be going. Another five minutes, he thought, shouldn’t make a difference.

“Call Eric,” he said to the bluetooth receiver.

As soon as Eric picked up, Jack said, “I’m not going to make it. I’m still stuck on 95, and I’ve got like another 25 minutes I think. Can you call your parents and tell them to wait by baggage claim? I’m so sorry.”

“It’ll be fine, Jack,” Eric said. “Just let me check -- yeah, their plane’s running a little late, too. I’ll text Mama and let her know you’re on your way, and if she doesn’t see you at baggage claim to just sit tight, OK? I promise they won’t mind.”

Jack hated being late. It had been drummed into him by both his parents growing up that it was not only rude to waste other people’s time, it could make him come off as arrogant and conceited, like he thought he was more important than whoever was left waiting for him. He was already the awkward son (yes, he was well aware of that, thanks) of famous parents, and people were all too ready to see him as stuck-up instead of just disorganized or nervous or not good with directions or any of the other reasons he might be late.

And these were Eric’s parents, people he wanted to impress, people he wanted to like him.

Eric said they did like him already, from when they met him last summer and the few times they’d communicated since then.

“Jack, come on,” Eric said, trying to reassure him. “I’m the one telling them about you. Of course they think you’re wonderful.”

But now they’d think Eric was just being unrealistic, focusing on the positive, and they’d tell him so.

Jack gripped the steering wheel harder and willed the cars and trucks in front of him to move. It didn’t work.

So he breathed, deep and measured. It would be fine, Eric said. His parents were nice people who liked Jack and wouldn’t hold being 10 minutes late against him. It would be fine.

His phone rang again. Eric.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jack. Their plane is gonna be about 20 minutes late, it looks like. I texted Mama so she’ll get it when they land and gave her your number, so she’ll call you and figure out where to meet. Don’t worry -- they’ve driven in Atlanta, Jack. They understand about traffic. They’re just impressed that you’re taking the time to pick them up at all.”

“Thanks, Eric,” Jack said. “I’m taking the airport exit now, so we should be fine. Um, sorry I was getting upset about it.”

“No need to apologize, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric said, a warm tone in his voice. “I know you hate to be late. Five minutes early is on time and all that.”

“Really, thanks. I’m heading into the parking garage, so I’ll let you go. See you in a while.”

Eric was right. It was fine. He parked and went in and checked the board to see that the Bittle’s flight had just landed. He took up a post near the carousel where the baggage from their flight would arrive, and soon enough, his phone vibrated with a call from Suzanne.

Less than 10 minutes later, the Bittles were there, and Jack was being squeezed tightly by Suzanne and getting a handshake and a slap on the shoulder from Coach.

“Dicky said you were running a little late,” Suzanne said. “I’m so glad you weren’t sitting here waiting for us all that time. You weren’t here long, were you?”

“No, just a few minutes,” Jack said. “Do you have to get bags?”

“Oh, no, we have all our things here,” Suzanne said. “We’re ready to go.”

Jack led the way to his car.

“My, it’s chilly out here,” Suzanne said, wrapping her coat more tightly around her as they stepped outside.

“It takes some getting used to,” Jack said. “But my car has heated seats.”

“Oooh,” Suzanne said. “Richard, did you hear that? Heated seats!”

Coach grunted.

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

It was past 1 p.m. when Jack tugged open the door of Sugar ‘n’ Spice to usher the Bittles in.

“Hey, Dex,” Jack said. “Eric here?”

“In the back,” Dex said. “I’ll get him.”

Suzanne was looking at the food in the cases with a critical eye.

“These pies really do look good, but it’s hard to keep the taste right when you have to make so many of them,” she said.

She looked up to see Eric, coming through the door from the kitchen, drying his freshly washed hands on what looked like a clean apron.

“Dicky! This is lovely. So much better than last time I was here.”

“You haven’t been here since I started managing,” Eric said.

“And you seem to be doing a good job,” she said.

“Suzanne, Coach, it was nice to see you,” Jack said. “I need to go rest up, but I’ll put your bags in Eric’s apartment, if that’s OK.”

“Of course, Jack dear,” Suzanne said. “Dicky, you’re sure you don’t mind giving up your bed to us? It won’t be too inconvenient for you to stay with Jack?”

“No, Mama, it’s fine, really,” Eric said. “I put fresh sheets on the bed and everything.”

Coach was shooting Eric an amused look. Coach. The man he had been scared to tell he was gay was looking amused that his mother hadn’t figured out (or was in denial) that her son would rather sleep with his boyfriend than alone.

Eric grinned back at his father and said, “I spend a lot of time at Jack’s anyway. I do most of my cooking there because his kitchen’s so much nicer.”

“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” Suzanne said. “You want to make something tomorrow? Or do you get enough of baking here?”

Eric shrugged.

“It’s different at home, when you’re not using the big mixers and such and you know who you’re cooking for,” he said. “What do you want to make? A pecan pie? I can make dinner for all of us.”

“No, Eric, we said we’d take you out and we will,” Suzanne said. “But a pecan pie would be good. And maybe some of those chocolate cherry cookies you always liked.”

“Sounds good, Mama. Now, y’all haven’t eaten, have you? Just have a seat. I made quiche for you.”

As soon as his parents were seated at the table, Eric went to fetch the individual quiches from the kitchen.

When he returned to the front, his mother was engaging Dex in conversation.

“Do you enjoy it, working here?”

“Yeah, I do,” Dex said. “I never really thought I would like working in a bakery, but it’s cool. Bitty -- uh, Eric -- makes it easy to make it to my classes, and he’s taught me to do so much other stuff.”

Eric smiled.

“Dex is the one who’s usually in charge if I need time off,” Eric said. “Which I don’t think can be easy, since the other two usual employees are his roommates. But he makes it work.”

“Classes?” Coach said. “What are you studying?”

“Computer science, but just part-time,” Dex said. “I should finish up in another two years.”

“Not thinking of a career in baking then?” Suzanne asked.

“Not really,” Dex said. “But maybe running my own business someday. I’d like that.”

“Nurse should be here by 2, right?” Eric said. “When he comes in, I’ll take my folks home. In the meantime, I do have some things to take care of in back. Mama, Coach, feel free to come back when you’re done eating.”

Dex used the afternoon lull to sweep and wipe down the tables while Suzanne looked at Pinterest on her phone and Coach read the papers and magazines that had been left behind by other customers.

When he was sure that Eric was busy in the back, Dex said, “I just wanted to tell you how much I like working for Eric. He’s taught me so much, not just about baking.”

“I’m real glad to hear that,” Suzanne said. “You must be doing a good job, then.”

“What has he taught you about, son?” Coach said. “Planning? Budgeting?”

“Some of that,” Dex said. “But also, I mean, just how to be a better person?”

Suzanne looked at him now.

“I mean, I know he and Jack are tight, but this last year hasn’t always been easy for him,” Dex said. “When people found out about them, it brought a lot of attention to him, not all of it good. And Jack has to be away a lot. But he never missed a day of work, never stopped smiling. You should be proud of him.”

“We are, son,” Coach said.

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

Jack had really wanted to win this game.

Jack really wanted to win every game. But this game was in front of not just his boyfriend (although Jack had started to suspect that “boyfriend” did not even begin to describe how important Eric was in his life) and his boyfriend’s parents.

His boyfriend’s parents who weren’t hockey fans, who had never before seen an NHL game, and his team lost.

In overtime, but still.

At least they weren’t visiting the locker room. Eric didn’t think his mother would cope well with that.

“I know y’all don’t mind,” Eric said. “But Mama -- she wouldn’t know where to look.”

But now Jack had to shower and dress and go meet them in the corridor leading to the player parking lot, and probably stop for food on the way home.

He really wasn’t in the mood to be social.

He wasn’t in the mood for anything except maybe to go to bed and bury his face against Eric’s shoulder and smell the scent that meant Eric (that meant home) and go to sleep and hope things looked better in the morning.

But they needed to get food, and Eric’s parents would need to eat, and he had to be a good host before that could happen.

Jack finished buttoning his shirt, stuffed his tie in his pocket, and headed out.

For a moment, the tableau that met him reminded him of the day Eric had first come to a game with Jack’s parents. Eric was again sitting on the floor, head tipped back against the wall, and Coach leaned his back against the wall next to him.

Suzanne stood in front of them and was the first to see Jack. She interrupted what she was saying to nudge Eric with the toe of her winter boot and to tap Coach on the arm, like she was telling them to straighten up.

She turned to Jack with a bright smile.

“Well, that sure was exciting,” she said. “I don't know that I’ve ever seen a game so fast.”

“That was a good game,” Coach said. “Seems like it just came down to a bounce or two.”

Jack opened his mouth to disagree -- it had come down to a Connor McDavid breakaway that Jack would have called a thing of beauty if it wasn't against his team -- but remembered the Bittles were guests who were trying to make him feel better.

“Maybe,” he said, extending a hand to pull Eric up. “We did have our chances.”

Once he was on his feet, Eric slid his arms around Jack’s waist and said quietly, “How are you, sugar? Really?”

Jack kissed the top of his head and said, “Better now. Tired.”

Suzanne must have heard, because she said, “Let's go home then. We got the fixings for some grilled sandwiches all ready -- all we have to do is put them together and heat them up, and then you can get some rest.”

Eric hopped in the driver’s seat, earning a raise eyebrow from Coach, and had them home in minutes.

“Why don’t you go change and Mama and I will bring the food over here and make the sandwiches?” Eric said, heading for his apartment.

Jack emerged from his bedroom in a soft T-shirt and track pants and found Coach standing alone in the entryway.

“Um, have a seat,” Jack said. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Beer?”

“I’ll take a beer if you’ve got one,” Coach said, and followed Jack towards the kitchen. “You going to have one?”

“I might,” Jack said.

“Doesn’t feel good to lose a close game like that, does it?” Coach said.

“No,sir.” Jack said. “It doesn’t.”

“Now, I know I don’t know hockey like I know football, but it seems to me your team played well,” Coach said. “And you did everything anyone could ask from a captain. Your team looks up to you, you know. I can see they way they listen to you.”

Coach stopped to take a swig from his bottle.

“You didn’t let them down, you know,” he continued. “You did your best. Things just didn’t go your way tonight.”

Jack shrugged. “It never feels good to lose.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Coach said. “But if you act like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, they’re going to feel like they let you down. You need to make sure they know the important thing is to come back and play the next game.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack said.

“Jack, I’ve been around a lot of athletes my whole life,” Coach said. “You’re special. You’re the kind of once-in-a-lifetime player that every coach hopes to have, and not just because you’re talented and work hard. You inspire your teammates to work hard, too. I’m proud to know you.”

Jack swallowed, and tried to think of what to say, when the door burst open.

“We’re sorry it took so long,” Suzanne was saying. “I knew we had a jar of roasted red peppers, but I couldn’t find it. Hungry?”

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

When Eric followed his mother to his apartment, he was assuming that they’d load up meats and cheeses and bread, maybe a couple of condiments, and be back at Jack’s -- back at their apartment -- before Jack got changed, so he wasn’t surprised Coach went right there.

It wasn’t until he had opened the door to his (old) apartment for his mother and she followed him in and closed the door that he realized she had other plans.

“So, Dicky,” she said, as he pulled turkey and roast beef from the refrigerator, “you have something you want to tell me?”

He set the meat down on the counter and reached for a bowl in the upper cabinet to carry the food.

The bowl wasn’t there. Right, he’d brought it to Jack’s -- to their apartment -- and not brought it back. No matter. There was a basket on top of the fridge.

“About what, Mama?” Eric asked.

“About where you actually live,” she said.

Well.

“What do you mean, Mama?” Eric said. “You know I live here.”

“I know you live in this building, but I’d bet my granny’s rolling pin that you don’t live in this apartment,” she said. “Not with a refrigerator like that, and cupboards that would put Old Mother Hubbard to shame.”

“Mother, I told you, I usually cook in Jack’s apartment,” Eric said. “His kitchen is much nicer, and it’s just easier to only buy one set of groceries.”

“That doesn’t explain why there are two sets of underpants in your dresser and your hamper is empty,” his mother said. “Mother!”

“Oh, come on, Dicky,” his mother said. “I wasn’t born yesterday -- and neither were you. You’re an adult, and you’re in a relationship that’s been going for almost a year, and it wasn’t done so much when I was young, but I know most young people do live together for a time. But please don’t lie to me about what;s going on in your life.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Eric said. “It just seemed … embarrassing, I guess? … to say I was staying by Jack’s most of the time. I’m keeping this apartment, though, at least for now, because sometimes our schedules just aren’t compatible and we need our own space. Sometimes Jack really wants to watch tape, and I really want to watch ‘Chopped.’”

Eric stopped and shrugged.

“Besides, I like to have two ovens.”

“So I’m guessing you’re not staying in Jack’s guest room?”

“No, ma’am,” Eric said. “It’s mostly an office, anyway.”

“Well, I don’t much care to be embarrassed either,” his mother said. “So in the morning, your father and I will wait for you to call before we come over. You and I are making breakfast, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eric said. “We don’t usually sleep late, but there is coffee in the freezer, and milk and cream in the fridge, and bread for toast if you wake up early and hungry.”

“I can’t imagine we’ll be hungry if we make sandwiches now,” his mother said. “But thanks. I’m sure I can find whatever we need.”

Saying goodnight to his parents that night was a bit strange, Eric thought, but overall, he and his mother carried it through rather well.

Jack had relaxed enough to be explaining the structure of the Falconers’ power play to Coach after Eric and his mother came back. The explanation seemed to require several digressions into what other structures teams used, and which penalty kill defenses worked best, and how tailor the strategies to best suit the players on the ice.

Coach, a natural tactician when it came to team sports, seemed more engaged than Eric had ever seen with a conversation that wasn’t about football.

Then talk turned to plans for Monday. Jack and the Falconers were spending the morning painting a homeless shelter as an MLK day service project; Eric was providing baked goods for the volunteers. Coach and Suzanne would join them until Eric drove them to Logan for their flight.

“I can get up and make everything first,” Eric said. “Y’all don’t have to get up that early.”

“Don’t be silly,” his mother said. “Of course I’ll help.”

“We’ll help,” Coach said.

After everyone ate, Eric loaded plates in the dishwasher while his mother wiped the cutting board and washed the knives, over Jack’s objections.

“I can help Eric,” he said. “You’re a guest.”

“Oh, no, honey, you must be exhausted,” Eric’s mother said. “This won’t take a minute.”

“Just let her, Jack,” Eric said. “Trust me. Arguing will just take longer.”

Walking out the door, his mother had assured him again that she and Coach would not make an appearance at Jack’s door until Eric called to say they were ready.

After the door shut, Jack cocked an eyebrow at Eric.

“Giving us our privacy?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Eric said. “She knows I’ve basically moved in, but only because she went through my underwear drawer.”

Jack laughed.

“Good thing we keep the lube and condoms here, then.”

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

Jack watched Eric drive off with his parents at noon on Monday, on their way to Logan to head home to Georgia.

“Papa, can you give me a ride home?” he asked.

“Of course, Jack.” his father said. “Just let me clean my hands.”

His father wiped as much paint as he could on a rag near the piled up supplies, gave up and headed for the laundry room.

Jack and five teammates, along with a crew of about a dozen family members, had spent the morning painting bedrooms and a day nursery at the House of the Good Shepherd, a transitional shelter for women and their children who were leaving dangerous or abusive situations. He’d committed to come at the beginning of the season, well before Eric had invited his parents to come this weekend. When Eric explained the situation, Suzanne said, “Well of course we’ll help too.”

It wasn’t until after Christmas that Jack’s parents had jumped in. When Maman said they were looking for a time to visit in January, Jack had mentioned that the Bittles would be in town and that they would be joining a MLK Day service project, and Maman had immediately said, “Would the team mind if we came too?”

“Um, I’m sure they wouldn’t, but maybe it would be better for Eric to have the weekend with his parents?” Jack said.

“Not the whole weekend,” his mother said. “Just that Monday. I don’t want to intrude. But Eric did say Suzanne is a fan.”

“Let me ask Eric,” Jack said.

With Eric’s approval, Jack told his parents to come ahead and he game them the address of the shelter to meet the volunteer crew. Jack rode over with Coach; Eric and Suzanne were coming from the bakery with muffins, pastries and a variety of quick breads. There would also be a selection of cookies and pies for the residents of the shelter, Jack was sure.

As they pulled up, Jack turned to Coach and said, “Can you keep a secret?”

“That depends,” Coach said suspiciously. “Is there something you’re keeping from Junior?”

“Not like that,” Jack said. “Just until Eric and Suzanne get here. And Eric knows.”

“Knows what?” Coach asked.

“My parents are here this morning,” Jack said. “My dad likes to hang out with the team, and Eric thought Suzanne might like to meet my mother. I mean, you can call her and tell her if you don’t think it’s a good idea.”

But now Coach was grinning. “I think that’s a great idea. Just let me get my phone out to get a picture.”

“OK,” Jack said. “But there’s probably someone from PR here, too. They won’t use anything we don’t want them to, but if you want pictures from them, they’re usually pretty good.”

Things had moved quickly from there. Jack greeted his parents and introduced Coach. The assembled hockey players and guests divided up into teams, with Coach and his father each grabbing rollers and sharing a pan.

Jack and his teammates got the painting gear set up and started to work, the videographers and photographers got their shots, and soon enough Jack’s phone was vibrating. “Eric and Suzanne are almost here,” Jack told the fathers.

Jack and Coach went out to help carry the baked goods in, with Jack’s father staying back by the refreshment table with Alicia.

Suzanne hadn’t dropped the tray of muffins she was carrying when she saw Jack’s mother, but it looked like it was a near thing.

“You’re Alicia Montgomery!” she said.

Alicia smiled and said, “And you’re Suzanne Bittle. You have a lovely son, you know.”

“So do you,” Suzanne said. “Jack is such a gentleman. And I know where he got those manners. Thank you for hosting Dicky -- I mean Eric. But look at you -- over here painting, and just as beautiful as ever.”

“I don’t know about that,” his mother said. “Did you make some of this?”

“I helped,” Suzanne said. “But Dicky’s the real baker now.”

“But you taught him, yes?” Alicia said. “The care package you sent me was delicious. I especially liked the lemon scones.”

Jack would swear he could see Suzanne filing that away.

The two mothers took themselves off to the day nursery to add cartoon character wall decorations and, no doubt, swap stories about their husbands and sons.

An hour later, Eric drove away with his parents, stopping for a brief kiss from Jack. Jack caught Coach’s eye, seeing surprise at their public affection, but not disapproval.

It was a matter of another hour before the work was done and the group posed for pictures and greeted the residents, who returned from a morning outing to their brightened quarters. Jack was popular with the children, but he saw their mothers gravitate to his mother.

For her part, she complimented them on their hair, their makeup, the way they put outfits together.

Finally, it was time to go.

Jack climbed into the back seat of his parents’ rental car, and listened to his mother talk about tentative plans to come back and do a workshop on how to apply makeup for the women.

“Some of them were saying they wanted to look more professional for interviews,” she said. “I’m sure I can get some of the products donated.”

She stopped to take a sip from her water bottle.

“Jack, love, make sure to let us know the next time the Bittles are coming up. I want to take Suzanne shopping.”

“Better her than me, Maman,” Jack said.

#my fic #zimbits #omgcheckplease #omg check please #neighbors au

[dumouwin]

All I want is a Prince/Princess AU where Jack is a Prince who has to marry Princess Bittle but all he wants to do is bang her brother

“Mama,” Jack whines, “I look like a butler.”

“Sweetheart, you look wonderful. The princess will just love you in this,” she gushes. Jack doesn’t say what he’s thinking - that he honestly doesn’t care what the princess thinks of his outfit.

Princess Julia is kind, sweet, and pretty. She’s quiet and somewhat introverted, like himself. They get along just fine, conversations always polite if not a little awkward. Jack’s known her for as long as he can remember, and he’s been engaged to her for longer than that. Jack thinks he could be happy with her, if it weren’t for one thing.

Prince Eric is also kind, sweet, and pretty, but he certainly isn’t quiet or introverted. He’s loud, loud, loud, always bustling around, catching everyone’s attention, and loving it. He’s the center of every royal party, and the most interesting person in any room he’s in. Eric is Julia’s twin brother, so Jack’s also known him as long as he can remember. He’s had a crush on him for the past ten years or so - maybe longer. 

He sees the twins once every few months or so, and tonight is one of those special occasions where he has to dress up and spend five or so hours standing next to Julia and smiling.

“Prince Jack!” Queen Suzanne exclaims when they walk into the parlor. She’s always particularly excited to see Jack, and it never fails to make him blush.

“Momma, do you have to scream every time that poor boy walks into the room?” Eric teases, throwing a wink at Jack. Jack can feel how hot his cheeks are, just from this little bit of teasing. Well, that and the fact that Eric’s wearing a deep blue suit that’s making Jack’s mouth go dry. “C’mon, Jack, I’ll save you from her wrath,” he jokes, reaching out to grab Jack’s wrist and tug him from the room. Jack’s skin is tingly and hot where Eric’s touching him. He tries not to spontaneously combust when Eric pulls him up the stairs and into his bedroom.

“Jules is still getting ready,” Eric explains, “But I figure we can hang out in here while you wait. Unless you’d rather go check on her, of course.”

“No, no,” Jack says, way too fast, “I’m, um. I’m good right here.”

“Lucky me,” Eric grins, flopping down on his sofa and pulling out his phone. This is nothing new to Jack. Eric’s affinity for social media perplexes him - they spend most of their lives in the public eye, why would they want to share even more with people. That’s not to say that Jack didn’t make a private Twitter just to follow him, though.

“Tweeting again, Bittle?” Jack laughs, sitting down gingerly next to Eric on the couch.

“Laugh it up, Zimmermann,” Eric sneers, sticking his tongue out. He brings his phone up and says, “Smile quick!” before snapping a picture. Jack watches as Eric exams the picture, groaning as he says, “Gosh, how do you look this good in a dang surprise picture? Those cheekbones, Jack, I swear. I’m tweeting this.”

Jack tries to cough to cover up the nervous giggle he lets out. It’s unfair, he thinks, that he’s known Eric his whole life and is still this flustered by the boy. “Don’t you have your own date you should be tweeting, Bittle?” Jack says, mostly teasing, but genuinely curious.

“Nah,” Eric shrugs, “I told Momma and Daddy last month that I wasn’t going to put any more poor girls through the misery of being my date, and I’m definitely not ready to come out just so I can take a cute boy to a party, so.”

Eric’s sexuality is what Jack would describe as one of the best worst-kept secrets ever. It hasn’t gotten out to the media or the public, but all of the royal families are well aware of it. Jack’s known since he was 17 and Eric and Julia were 15. It didn’t exactly help with Jack’s crush.

“Guess it’s a good thing you weren’t engaged before you could walk, then, eh?” Jack smiles a little sadly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Eric sighs, “Sometimes I think it would’ve been easier, you know? Like, maybe if I just had someone - some girl - that I grew up knowing I would be with, then things would be different.”

Jack doesn’t know what it is that makes him say it, but he can’t help the way he blurts out, “I can tell you right now that it isn’t easier, and it doesn’t make anything different.”

“You - what?”

He’s pretty much halfway out by now, so he might as well keep going. “I’m gay. Or bisexual, maybe. I’m not really sure. I’ve only ever had serious feelings for one person, and uh - he’s - you’re a guy, so.”

“Jack,” Eric breathes out.

“I don’t - you don’t have to say anything. I know it’s, like, really shitty to spring this on you, when I’m engaged to your sister, and you don’t even have feelings for me - ”

“I do, though,” Eric interrupts him. “God, Jack, of course I do. And I thought - I could deal with it when it was one-sided pining.”

“Eric, I - ”

Jack’s interrupted again, but this time it’s by the other Bittle twin. He winces as Julia walks in, eyes raking over them both.

“So have you two figured out that you’re in love, then?” She asks.

“Jules - ” Eric tries.

“Eric Richard Bittle, don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” she warns, “I’m not sad, or angry, or anything like that. I’ve known since we were, like, nine years old. I’m your twin, I can sense things like this,” she laughs, shoving a little at Eric’s shoulder. “Plus, this one over here’s been so obvious with his heart-eyes I’m surprised the whole dang world hasn’t picked up on it,” she adds, nodding towards Jack. It’s a struggle for Jack not to duck his head in embarrassment.

“What do we do?” Eric huffs.

“Right now, I’m going to go up to my room and pretend to be ‘getting ready’ for the next half hour so you two can finally make out or something. Then we’re going to go to this party and pretend to enjoy ourselves while a bunch of diplomats get drunk. Then, tomorrow, we tell Momma and Daddy,” Julia states calmly.

“Oh god, Momma and Daddy,” Eric chokes out. Jack wants to reach out and hold his hand so badly. He settles for pressing his leg against Eric’s.

“Honestly, Eric, I think they’ll be okay. They love you. And, I mean, they’ll still get a Bittle-Zimmermann marriage - just not the one they thought they were getting. Jack, will your parents - ”

Jack thinks about his mama and papa, how they’ve always told him that all they wish for is his happiness, and he just knows that it’s true when he says, “They would support me. Support us.”

“Well then it’s settled!” Julia smiles, turning to leave the room. “I’ll see you boys in half an hour! Don’t wrinkle your suits too much.”

There’s a moment or two after she closes the door where Jack and Eric are frozen looking at each other. Jack is so overwhelmed, with love for Eric and appreciation for Julia and an endless stream of possibilities and happiness that just opened up for him. They both lean in at once, and then he’s overwhelmed for a whole different reason, because Eric’s lips on his are nothing short of perfect.

#Anonymous #zimbits #zimbits ficlet #writing #i don't know how arranged marriages or royal families operate lmao this is just a shot in the dark