"Dude," said Holster, his eyes huge, "that's so sad. We gotta get them together." "This isn't a romcom, Holtzy, " Ransom said, patting his arm. "I'm sure that's not what Shitty had in mind." "Actually," said Shitty, "that's exactly what I had in mind. And I've got a plan."

"Sometimes," Shitty says, and pauses, like he's collecting his thoughts. "Sometimes, I feel like I barely know you, Bitty." Includes baking about feelings, actually TALKING about feelings, learning to understand feelings, and sex. Betaed by the wonderful mardia, without whom this story would be missing important parts.

Lardo needs a plus-one for her friend's wedding. Shitty looks pretty good in a suit. What else is a bro going to do?

Based on Bitty's Twitter recounting of Shitty and Jack's conversation the morning after Winter Screw -- the first few lines of dialogue come directly from the Twitter. An idea of what might have gone on during and after that conversation (hint: sex).

Eric’s never had a postgame breakdown of sex before, but he’s not particularly surprised when, before they’ve even caught their breath, Jack says, “Tell me how I can do better.”

“We don’t fight that much,” Dex says quietly. “You totally do,” Chowder says, “and sometimes you fight over me, which like. Guys. I know you’re doing it. I can hear you.” Nursey says, “let’s just turn on the game.”

Settling his grip just above the muted curve of Bitty's hips, Jack squeezes. "Better." Bitty coughs out a laugh. "Glad you're satisfied." "Almost satisfied," Jack says. "I still have my shirt and socks on." "Good," Bitty says, and he leans to press them together, forehead to forehead, chest to chest with only cotton worn thin between them. "I like you like this. It's cute."

Bitty's maple-sugar baking experiment goes even better than he planned: a 'swawesome afternoon at the Haus. (Bitty thinks about letting go of Jack, but then he asks himself what Beyoncé would do. She would not, he decides, back down.)

Ever since the day he met Jack Zimmermann, Shitty has seen it as his solemn duty to aggressively love him. (He just didn't know how aggressive the love Jack needed would be.) Includes enthusiastically-consented-to sexy hitting and egregious overuse of the word "fuck." Unbetaed. I'm probably going to hell extra for this.

Jack opens a door he hasn't walked through in a long time. Bitty holds his hand.

Settling his grip just above the muted curve of Bitty's hips, Jack squeezes. "Better." Bitty coughs out a laugh. "Glad you're satisfied." "Almost satisfied," Jack says. "I still have my shirt and socks on." "Good," Bitty says, and he leans to press them together, forehead to forehead, chest to chest with only cotton worn thin between them. "I like you like this. It's cute."

A wicked smile slowly spreads across Kent’s face, and he turns to Jack. “What do you say, should I show your boy how to make you cry?”

Jack's just taking pictures whenever he sees something worth photographing, something that seems to fit what he's being told in class, about line and shape and color and beauty. It's like the camera knew before Jack did.

A wicked smile slowly spreads across Kent’s face, and he turns to Jack. “What do you say, should I show your boy how to make you cry?”

When Bittle first showed up at a meeting with management, sitting next to Sara with wide, scared eyes, Jack didn't think he had a chance in hell. Sara hired new assistants all the time, most of whom barely made it through a season.

There are reasons he doesn't usually come down for the parties: people, mostly, and alcohol. But there's a reason he has, this time, and that reason made four dozen cookies earlier and is currently pressed up against his side.

“You don’t have to tell them it was me. I mean, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll stop leaving marks if you want me to. Just..." He lifts up Jack’s shirt and touches one of the hickeys. When he looks back up, his eyes have gone dark. “I really, really like it. Do you mind?”

"Okay," Eric says, "but you've got to be quiet, sweetheart. You know how thin these walls are."

It figures that the one person to catch his notice in Boston would be Jack Zimmermann’s fucking boyfriend. “So, uh,” Kent stutters, all of his charm wiped away by this bullshit turn of events. “You probably think I’m the world’s biggest asshole, don’t you.” Bitty takes a sip of his beer and shrugs. “You’re up there.”

“Dibs on blondie,” Kent tells Jack. Jack makes a face at him. “Kenny, you can’t call dibs on a human being.” Kent scoffs. “Says you. Dibs.”

jack zimmermann and eric bittle may or may not be dating. kent parson may or may not still be hung up on jack zimmermann. they all definitely have some sex. a trilogy.

Eric’s never had a postgame breakdown of sex before, but he’s not particularly surprised when, before they’ve even caught their breath, Jack says, “Tell me how I can do better.”

Jack's just taking pictures whenever he sees something worth photographing, something that seems to fit what he's being told in class, about line and shape and color and beauty. It's like the camera knew before Jack did.

Rans and Holster have a busy semester, so they start planning their bro-time. But its not like they're dating, right?

Ever since the day he met Jack Zimmermann, Shitty has seen it as his solemn duty to aggressively love him. (He just didn't know how aggressive the love Jack needed would be.)

When Bittle first showed up at a meeting with management, sitting next to Sara with wide, scared eyes, Jack didn't think he had a chance in hell. Sara hired new assistants all the time, most of whom barely made it through a season.

Jack thought his first year in the NHL would be 100% about hockey, but the reality is so much more complicated. (AU where the Goodbye for the Summer comics didn’t happen, because I had already written 80K words of this. But just because it’s canon doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy long, angsty, get-together stories, amirite?) Alternate summary, courtesy of Dracavia: What if Bad Bob didn't say anything at graduation?

“Tater thinks I’m pretty,” Eric blurts out, and Jack chokes as he’s taking a sip of his drink. “Maybe wrong word,” Alexei tries, reaching out to squeeze Eric’s shoulder, “You handsome, but face is soft. Is nice face. Uh, you okay, Zimmboni?” “Yeah,” Jack coughs. His eyes are watering. “You’re right. Bitty is pretty.” “Is rhyme!” Alexei yells, excitedly, and offers his champagne bottle to Jack. “Drink for rhyme.”