"dude ur butt's a beaut."

takes place in After the Raven Has Had His Say, or, the farmer’s market au.

When Ransom steps into the apartment, the door swinging behind him to close with a soft click and a sharp squeak (he really has to remember to remind Bitty to fix it), he’s met with a sensory overload. 

Every electronic device that can be turned on is on. Pop music blares from the speakers they’ve installed throughout the apartment. The TV is on but turned down low, a football game illuminating the screen. Every now and then a shrill whistle from the game cuts through the music. The oven, mixer, and microwave are all running and the rich scent of buttery chocolate permeates through the air, hitting Ransom just steps into the apartment. 

In the midst of the chaos, his gaze settles on the man standing in the middle of it all. 

Bitty’s a human hurricane, piping neat blooms of frosting onto cupcakes, spinning to take melted chocolate out of the microwave, dancing around the island to check the consistency of whatever’s mixing. Ransom quietly hangs up his messenger bag, toes off his shoes, loosens his tie, and waits. It takes Bitty a full four minutes to notice him, and he only looks up from his tasks when the refs on the screen announce a penalty. 

“Ref, are you blind? What the - Ransom! Oh, honey, how long have you been standing there?” The words fly from Bitty’s mouth as he hurries over to Ransom, turning the music down as he moves while Ransom pushes off the wall he’s been leaning on to meet him halfway. Bitty rocks up onto his toes to kiss Ransom quickly, curving his body away so he doesn’t get cocoa powder and flour on Ransom’s work clothes. 

“Not long,” Ransom replies, catching Bitty’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt his head to the side so he can kiss a smudge of frosting off his cheek. “I’m guessing you posted a video today?” He asks. The apartment always descends into chaos after Bitty uploads a video he’s nervous about; despite years of vlogging, he’s still not great at waiting for the comments and view to roll in. 

Bitty wrinkles his nose. “That obvious, huh?” He asks. Ransom takes him by the shoulders and steers him back into the mess. 

“Just a little,” Ransom replies, ducking his head to press a kiss to Bitty’s cowlick. “Is there anything in the oven?” 

“Nope, just haven’t gotten around to turning it off yet.” Bitty admits, already turning in Ransom’s grip in an attempt to get back to the cupcakes. He twists the piping bag he’s holding, eyeing the tray with intent, and Ransom knows he won’t be able to pull him away without a fight. He releases Bitty’s shoulders and rolls up his sleeves. 

By the time Bitty comes up for air to refill the piping bag with more frosting, Ransom has the kitchen well in hand. It feels good to clean, to organize and scrub and move after sitting in an office all day writing reports and brainstorming social media initiatives. He spends far too much time behind a desk, and judging from the mess he’d found, Bitty’s spent far too much time in the kitchen today. He drops a kiss to the top of his boyfriend’s head before he wanders into the living room. Ransom drops onto the couch with a heavy sigh and digs the remote out from between the couch cushions to change the channel. 

He’s watched the better part of the second period of the Falconers/Canucks game when Bitty drapes himself over his lap unceremoniously. He smells like chocolate and sugar and cinnamon, tension draining away as he relaxes against Ransom’s chest.  

“Sweetpea.” Bitty mumbles. “Honey bun. Muffin. Cupcake.” His fingers twist into the fabric of Ransom’s collar, tugging him until he turns. Ransom obliges, placing a steadying hand against Bitty’s back as he turns. Bitty kisses him, soft and sweet, moving languidly.

“Are you offering me a cupcake, or am I the Cupcake?” Ransom asks when they break apart, lightly threading his fingers through Bitty’s short hair. His other hand smooths up and down Bitty’s spine, circling over his shoulders only to travel back down to his lower back. Bitty laughs, tilting to the side so his forehead rests against Ransom’s shoulder. 

“Both,” Bitty replies, settling down with a sigh. Ransom rubs his back and watches the game, waiting for him to fall asleep. Today, he knows, was one of Bitty’s long days, when he can’t seem to stand still enough to concentrate on one task for even the shortest amount of time. Tomorrow, Ransom knows, he might have one of his long days, when seconds crawl by like honey dripping off a spoon, when every minute is agonizingly long and every breath is a battle. When that day comes, Ransom knows, Bitty will hover around him, counting his breaths and updating his many to-do lists until he remembers how to uncurl from the fetal position. They both have their days.

part one. part of “after the raven has had his say,” or the bittyrans/jackholtz eventual OT4 au. read it on ao3.

Bitty has a complicated relationship with mornings. He likes beginnings, fresh starts, new opportunities. He’s good at starting over - it’s the ending that’s harder. He knows how to finish some things: tweets, recipes, vlogs, days, pies. Most times, though, the middle gets muddled up and overly complicated until the thought of taking another step towards a conclusion is too overwhelming. When mornings fall in the middle of difficult projects it’s difficult to find the energy to get the day started. Today is one of those days.

He can’t really complain. The project he’s entrenched in is his long awaited cookbook, the one his followers have been clamoring about since his bunny-shaped cinnamon roll video went viral. He has another three weeks before the chapter he’s working on is done and he has just a few more recipe variations to test. Unfortunately, each iteration has been more time-consuming and difficult than the last and he’s not looking forward to another week of development. Ransom, at least, has all his previous attempts collected in an expansive Excel sheet, complete with “Ease of Consumption,” “Stress Generated During Baking,” and “Enjoyment Fluctuation” categories.

Bitty never thought baklava would be the death of him, but that’s what he gets for straying from his comfort zone. He’s tempted to cut the recipe altogether but it’s one of the top requests from his fans so he has to stay the course. He can’t let them down, now then he owes all his success to their support. There’s a weight on his chest just thinking about it - or maybe that’s just Ransom, who’s currently using Bitty’s sternum as a pillow. 

big ol’ thank you to @chocolatechipcookiesplease for listening while i hashed out this verse and for the cutest suggestion in the world.

Adam might be a morning person - he’s a farmer, it comes with the territory - but his partner is not. Jack, inexplicably, is neither a morning person nor a night owl. Instead of thriving at a certain period of time, he just requires at least seven, preferably seven and a half, hours of sleep. His body usually doesn’t allow him to get more than that and if he gets less he’s impossible to wake without becoming irritable and grouchy.

The second Adam opens his eyes, he knows what kind of a day it’s going to be. He’s laying on his side, Jack’s arm draped over his waist. Jack’s pressed close, tucked up against Adam’s back, and when Adam shifts to turn off his alarm Jack doesn’t move at all. His breathing is even against the back of Adam’s neck, and there’s no harm in giving him another few minutes before they have to get up.

Adam reaches for his phone, content to scroll through trade speculations (there are rumors that Chris Chow might end up with the Falconers) or stream an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine before waking the beast, but after he unlocks it with sleep-stupid fingers and adjusts the brightness, the page refuses to load. Adam stares at the blank, still-too-bright screen for a long moment, then drops the phone with a groan. There’s no service and the wifi’s out, leaving them technologically stranded in the wilderness. Sure, there’s the landline Jack insists on keeping, but Adam can’t watch 30 Rock through a Stone Age artifact, can he? They have to upgrade to a better plan. Adam can’t live like this - he won’t live like this.

Annoyed, Adam picks up Jack’s arm by the wrist and tosses it behind him, letting it flop onto the mattress. He’s already sitting up by the time Jack reacts, burrowing into the pillows and wrapping his arm around Adam’s waist as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Nope,” Adam says, voice deeper than usual from a night of disuse. He removes Jack’s arm again, this time gently setting it on the bed. “I’m mad at you.” How did he manage to fall for someone who thinks the Internet is an optional amenity? Blasphemer.

“Oh, okay.” Jack mumbles, accepting the news easily. He rolls over, taking the blankets with him. Double blasphemer. Adam stares at the back of his head until his breathing evens out again, smiling softly despite his annoyance. Ugh, love. He pulls the blankets up over Jack’s shoulder and stands, stretching before beginning the day.

He’d been going about it all wrong. Ransom knew that now. Heand Holster both—completely wrong.

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to skid into the kitchen at alightning pace and startle Bitty enough to cause him to throw the bowlhe’d been whisking entirely over his head, but Ransom was trying to fix a pastmistake. He hadn’t intended to cause a new one. They both eyed the now emptymixing bowl and the puddle of batter on the floor.

“Ransom!” Bitty yelped. Then, once he realized allhis hard work was gone, he repeated in a much more annoyed voice, “Ransom.”

“Sorry, Bits,” Ransom said, wincing. He reachedfor the roll of paper towels on the counter. “I’ll clean it up. You canstart over, if you want. Sorry.”

Bitty’s shoulder’s sagged, and Ransom nearly winced againbecause he was still going about this all wrong.

Eric had never had to call 911 for his bakery before. But,he figured, there was a first time for everything.

He had managed to keep steady enough on the phone when herealized that no, one customer was not humping the other one in broad daylight,she was giving him the Heimlich maneuver. The realization had both spurned himinto action and nearly gave him a heart attack at the same time. The choking customerhad spat up something gross while Eric was giving the operator his location,but he at least appeared to be breathing properly by the time the dispatchertold Eric that help was on the way.

Everything after the paramedics showed up was a blur namelybecause Eric needed a moment to collect himself after coming to terms with the fact his baker was not going to be known as “the one where a guy choked todeath” after all. Also because the paramedics looked more like models thanparamedics. Where did they get EMTs from these days? The sexy calendarcatalogue?