"I’m all for spicing thing’s up, but isn’t this a bit much?”

     “Hey–! if I wanted your opinion in the kitchen, I’d friggin ask for it, capiche?”
Jack waves his spatula at the other in an annoyed fashion, hand on cocked hips. He smooths out his ‘Fuck The Cook’ apron and sits heavily in the chair opposite other Jack, kicking up his feet to rest in the other’s lap. God he fucking hated cooking. Hell if he wasn’t good at it though, and he wasn’t about to let even himself say otherwise. He mentally ticks another thing of his ‘shit future Jack somehow convinces him to do‘ list– it was getting embarrassingly long. (His face heats up just thinking about it–)
     “If you don’t like my cooking, then stop killing all my goddamn cooks !!”