Okay but i swear to you i will sacrifice my entire being for someone to write that pens!bitty fic or one shot. I need like air
(Alright, you monsters, I did this one, but I’m not great with RPF so this is probs it for Pens!Bitty <3 tw for concussion)
A sprained ankle here, a blown ACL there, and Bitty’s on the Penguins starting line flanking Sidney Crosby like it’s nothing. Like it’s no big deal he’s racking up assists left and right for the man who is going to displace two of Bad Bob’s career records this season. Like Eric didn’t have a debilitating fear of physical contact less than five years ago and is now playing for a team defending a championship title.
From behind, Sid looks like Jack. Or at least he has Jack’s ass, which is a hell of a thing to realize after being slammed into the boards. He’s disoriented enough to ask, “Jack?” when his captain skates up to check on him.
“Bittle, you okay?“
Eric blinks and the illusion is gone. No Jack, no Samwell, just the Pittsburgh Penguins beating the snot out of the New Jersey Devils. And the Devils beating the snot out of Eric.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Eric says, pulling himself to his feet and blinking through a blossoming headache. “You know you look a lot like Jack Zimmermann from behind?”
“Better not be a crack about my ass, Bittle,” Crosby elbows him lightly, herding him back to the bench.
“Aboot,” Eric echoes, “I wouldn’t joke about your ass, Captain. Special kind of cheek meat.“
That didn’t come out right…and why are the lights so bright? Are they always this bright?
Crosby slides to a stop and Eric bumps right into him. “You sure you aren’t concussed?” Though he’s asking, Eric can clearly see Sid waving over a trainer. Eric takes a moment to reflect on his situation, what he’s just said to his teammate.
“No, but you really look like my boyfriend.”
“You just said I look like Zimmermann.”
“I know. Jack Zimmermann looks like my boyfriend.”
Crosby connects invisible dots in midair with his finger. “I look like Jack Zimmermann, who looks like your boyfriend, who looks like me.”
“Yes. No?” That sounds right. Kinda.
“Bittle. Do I look like your boyfriend from behind?”
Eric nods, even though the motion makes his world tilt sideways.
“I look like your boyfriend, Jack Zimmermann, from behind.”
“Yes.” Wait. That’s a secret. “Shit, that’s a secret.”
“Fuck, yeah, you’re sitting this period out, buddy.”
Malkin slides up beside Crosby and gives Eric a once over. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Got his bell rung, thinks I’m his boyfriend.” Crosby slaps the rail twice with his glove and shoots Eric a wink. A couple of the boys whistle and holler while the trainer shines a light in Eric’s eyes. The part of Eric’s brain still functioning properly is probably really upset right now.
“I don’t think it’s a concussion, he’s just dazed.”
“I’m ready to go in, coach, just give me a chance.” Eric jokes, though no one laughs. “Ace Ventura? No?”
The arena turns sideways along with Eric’s stomach and he burps wetly. Sullivan makes a face and says something to the trainer and just like that Eric is being directed to the locker room for further examination.
Eric hopes this makes for a really funny story later.