#Flip Tidbits

[ask-flip-frost]

Day 4

"How would that even work?"

"Funny you should ask," Flip grinned.

A very, very long moment passed, but nothing further was said.

"...Um. Well?" Ace prompted hopefully.

"Oh! Oh, I don't know. I only thought it was funny you should ask." Flip clarified. "Dove stepped on it at least seven hundred times if these fancy footprints are any clue. I have to think it wasn't an accident after the first five hundred."

Ace made a soft noise of despair, darting back and forth to ensure that nobody was coming. She dearly wished that her Demon companion hadn't been made privy to the ancient joke, but such was life. The late autumn had gifted a chilly rain, which was the perfect weather to snuggle under a blanket to watch the history channel. However, when Dove had entered the room and seen what flashed across the screen... well, a rare show of temper had taken him. He was off like a shot to the dig site.

"Something that Olde, stomped with this much Pettiness, isn't an item I can fix. So, like I was saying, best to just... throw a rug over it and walk away. I can conjure a rug." Flip offered. "A nice one. Maybe then they won't care."

"Aw, man." Ace fussed. "They're definitely going to care. It was a super ancient tablet. I wish I knew what it said that made him so mad."

"Do you have a recording of the program you watched?" Flip asked.

"Mmmmwell, it's on Netflix. Maybe I can pull it up on my phone... um... okay, here."

Within a few moments, someone Much Older had sent them a translation via text. It was good to have an Angel in one's contact list.

"Ahem... 'Hiraeth, whomst liveth in the home beside to mine, hath such a peculiar shape to his backside. Tis a jest from the creator, made flesh. Perhaps in likeness it may be seen to resemble a fig which hath been trod on. The flat nature would find it well concealed amongst a plate of unleavened bread.'" Flip recited. "Yeesh, Cyprian, tell us how you really feel!"

"Poor Dove. His butt isn't weird shaped. It's like... butt shaped, right?" Ace floundered.

"Sorry, what?" Flip asked. "I was texting Dove a bunch of peach emojis."

"Aaah! From MY phone?!"

@mus-brunneis @winged-gentleman @tinypigeonlord

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

years later someone buys the plot, turns on the lights and is suddenly worshipped as a sun god by a bunch of puppets falling apart at the seams

pov you break into the spooky abandoned Playfellow Studios building for shits and giggles

[itsokbbygrl]

WIP Wednesday

omg she’s posting something???? YEAH BITCH I AM. Listen, idk if this will go anywhere or not but I had a few people tag me over the last few weeks so I figured I’d cook something up. This man has given me insane brainrot this week, so here you go! Marcus Acacius, you’ve earned a place in the Google docs officially. Ty for tagging me @sawymredfox @vivian-pascal @luxurychristmaspudding

The warm tones of firelight flicker against the stone walls of your bed chamber. Cicadas’ song bleats incessantly through your windows from the streets below. The soft scuffle of his worn boots against the floor began to grate against your ears as he paced. You would look for the path he carved come morning, surely etched into permanence by now, preserve it, name it for him.

“I am bound by honor to serve Rome, but I cannot in good conscience desert her people. This endless war…its devastation. These men, these boys, sent to slaughter under the impression that their bravery, their sacrifice, will bring improvement to their country, bring it riches, see it thrive, and yet upon their return see nothing but ruin. The citizens are starving in the streets, carissima, while we sit in our high towers, bathed in milk and honey, perfumed with oils. We are fed lavish meals, sleep on silk. I will not be the face of Geta’s wrath, his greed, any longer. It cannot go on like this or there will no longer be a Rome to serve.”

His face had turned red at its highest points, evidence of his belief in his words, the truth of his feelings. You rose from your place on the edge of your bed, holding his gaze as your strode carefully towards the towering beast of him, your General, still donning the beautiful formal armor he was gifted by the Emperor, laurels of gold laid atop his lush crown of curls, the increasing prominence of streaking silver betraying his age. His eyes follow you, never breaking from your own. You cup a soft palm against his heated cheek, brushing your thumb over its apple, feeling the pressure increase as he leans into the touch, coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin. “Meum cor, it is not for you to save this world alone. This is too great a burden to bear by one man, as strong and stubborn as he may be,” you gently tease him. “This is a game of wits, one played behind the curtain of society. My father once taught me to play such a game, you must always be thinking two steps ahead of your opponent, considering all outcomes at all times, finding their weakness and luring them to their demise.” Your eyes alight, reflecting the fire that surrounds you. “Marcus, Rome will not be won by he who is the most brave, but by he who is the most cunning.”

npt: @swiftispunk @javierpena-inatacvest @sugarcoated-lame @studioghibelli @mrsmando @beardedjoel @chronically-ghosted

[lululeighsworld]

decided to play the heirs of fate dlc this weekend (ive been meaning to for awhile; admittedly my knowledge of it all comes from browsing the wiki, and i really wanted to experience the anankos characterization for myself). this isn't even the part i was excited to get to BUT I AM REELING OVER IT..........FOR REASONS I WILL DISCLOSE IN THE TAGS (from part iv: light's sacrifice)

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

If I'm understanding this book on women's health from the late 1800s correctly, it's suggesting your children will be better and healthier people if the sex had to conceive them was good for both parties. Which. You know what? If that wild scientific and moral leap earned Victorian women a few orgasms, good for them. 😅

[caramelcoeur]

thorns of natalia winterfeld

based on an actual pinterest moodboard i have dedicated to her

[agoodomenssideblogiguess]

If David Tennant can't see for shit behind the contacts and the sunglasses, how the FUCK did he catch that coin in the 1601 Globe Theatre scene in Season 1????

[ei-mugi]

the abc news apparently made an instagram post saying the referendum failed & the No vote won... but there's still more time before they finish counting all of them so i wanna hold out hope

[officialfroggie]

channeling my inner kevin price (lost at quizlet and got pissed)

[theclichefortunecookie]

my dad had to do a task on his phone while I was with him and so I watched him open up his web browser app, with zero tabs already open, type in a url, do his thing, and immediately close it, exit the app, and remove it from running in the background like

dad please why couldn't that be genetic

[ask-flip-frost]

📂📂📂

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

@argxntxus

1. In the very, very rare instances that Flip cries, her tears transmute into precious gems. They're nearly identical to diamonds, though the makeup is unlike anything found in nature. Selling them to jewelers would fetch a high price because they're pretty much a legend among gemologists.

2. Flip's hair has magical properties on its own. If she were to gift you with a lock of her hair, you would experience an enhanced resistance to pain. This may have something to do with the high pain tolerance she's built over the centuries, and a strange carry-over effect. You would need to have it on your person to make it work.

3. Flip does not subscribe to the myth of counting. There is a story which suggests that throwing rice or seeds on the floor will force a Fairy to count them obsessively. Not Flip. She will be annoyed and tell you to clean it up. We're not barbarians here.

[pickapea]

scrolling thru my own goddamn belgariad fan blog, going thru the character tags while looking like this

[asyourshadowfalls]

ode to the 8 year old who has had running away on her mind all day. this is where such an insulated life really sucks. is your life perfect, kid? no. but considering your reasons (everyone in the house is annoying /fair i agree but alas everyone is annoying with too much exposure) that is not an issue you can avoid, and it certainly won't be missing in any family you move in with. that best friend is gonna be your enemy real quick (especially since youve already told me she's a bully to her little brother and has been rude to you) the interactions you hate are the ones that result from your own choices. they will only change when you start listening and thinking before reacting. it ain't easier but the more you practice it the better you'll be. and man do i wish you had any experience with sleepovers at other peoples houses or hell even just observing how other families interacted with each other in private because honey, you aren't even yelled at in this house,barring when someone is in imminent danger from your actions. and the family you want to live with has a giant confederate flag in their window so best not have that as your guardian

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 5: Night Out

You find yourself squeezed into the center of a round corner booth, Johnny to your left and Kyle to your right with John beside him. The bar is relatively quiet, even for a Saturday night. It is early, though. Plenty of time left in the night for more people to file in. Apparently they go out drinking every third week of the month, a day set aside for them to be together and celebrate another month of success. It’s sweet that they invited you, if not a little nerve wracking - you’re not exactly sure how much they plan on drinking and you’ve been known to be rather… sloppy after one too many.

You nervously adjust your top while Johnny yaps about the equipment sales person with the incredible ass. It’s hard not to squirm being packed in between them, hyper aware of the width of your hips and the size of your arms as they squish against far more toned, muscular limbs. A mean itch in the back of your mind lectures you about taking up too much space - about inconveniencing the people around you. About the optics of the pitiable fat girl tolerated by the handsome men around her.

An elbow to your arm finally knocks you out of your daze. “Och! There he is!”

You blink, following Johnny’s gaze to the man climbing into the booth beside him. It takes your brain a moment to catch up, processing the person in front of you. Your eyes turn to saucers as you realize it’s Simon - signature tattoos, piercings and all - just without his usual surgical mask. It shouldn’t make that much a difference, he still has that low brow and big dark eyes that slide over to you and make your stomach flip…but now you get the addition of his crooked nose, broken more than once and not set right, a small cleft scar leading down to a part of pretty, pink lips that quirk up in the corners when he catches you staring. A few scars scattered across his sharp jaw you hadn’t noticed before and a light layer of blonde stubble around each engraving on his face.

“You’re pretty!?” You gasp, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them. You bury your face in your hands while the others (Johnny) burst out in a fit of laughter. Simon’s shoulders shake in that signature, barely audible chuckle as he settles into the booth. Suddenly you feel a little less self conscious about the amount of space you take up in comparison.

John orders a round for everyone. Some light mixers to sip while you talk. You stick to listening, mostly, while the boys talk shop. You pick up a few personal tidbits here and there - specifically about Simon’s apparent sweet tooth as Johnny teases him about going through an entire package of licorice in one sitting. You file that away for later. Apparently John got his start after he enlisted in the military and got several very shitty tattoos during the first couple of years. Dropped out to get an apprenticeship, figuring he could do better. Kyle rolls his eyes, as if he’d heard the tale a few too many times.

“Where ye thinkin’ of lettin’ Kyle ink ye?” Johnny leans in close, breaking out of the group conversation.

You tilit your head. “Haven’t really thought about it. Wherever he’s comfortable, I guess.”

“Givin’ him free reign? Tha’s dangerous, bonnie. Might put it somewhere scandalous.”

“Wouldn’t be the first.” You blurt, regretting it immediately when you see that impish sparkle in his eye.

Johnny dips closer to you, shoulder pressing against yours. “Oh? Thought ye were a good girl, hen.”

“I’ve got a couple you haven’t, and will never get close enough to see, MacTavish.” You laugh.

“Is tha’ a challenge?” He grins, hand just barely ghosting over your thigh.

You shrug, face hot. ”Even if it was, you’d lose.”

There’s probably something deeply wrong with flirting with your coworkers while your boss sits a foot away, but your skin is too warm and your drink tastes to good for you to focus on that fleeing thought for long.

“From the gentleman at the bar.” A woman appears in front of your table, sliding a glass of pink cocktail toward you.

You stare at it before glancing up to meet a pair of dark eyes. He’s handsome, smiles and nods before going back to his own drink. Something cold runs down your spine, the bar warping for only a second. Your lip catches between your teeth before you push it away.

“That’s bold.” John scoffs, a twitch in his brow.

“Not gonnae take a free drink, bon?” Johnny teases, batting at your arm. “He’s no’ half bad lookin’. I’d take a bite.”

“I don’t take drinks from strange men.” You snap, a little harsher than you meant as you push the glass even further. “You can have it if you want.”

There’s a beat where you keep your eyes square on the table, waiting for an insistence that you take it, that you talk to him, that you just do what he wants because he seems nice enough. That you’ve ruined the mood by being sensitive, like you always do. Instead, Johnny grabs the glass and downs whatever fruity cocktail was inside.

“Alright, if I pass out ye have t’ carry me now.” He laughs, the conversation returning to the same pace as before. You just look up at him for a moment - his eyes bright and unwavering.

The more you’re with them, the more guilt you feel for doubting them in moments like this - but, equally, the more unreal they seem. Too perfect of men for you to have stumbled across. Too good for something as damaged as you. There’s a pang of loneliness at the thought.

You’re one again pulled from your thoughts - well, redirected, more like - when John’s arm comes to rest around the back of the booth behind Kyle, fingers brushing against your shoulder ever so slightly. You’d been noticing it more recently - John’s tendency to hover. He doesn’t cling like Johnny but he stays just a hair away. Fingers ghost over your arms and a hand hovers over your back. Sometimes he holds the back of your seat, leaning over you while looking at the appointment book, that wafting scent of leather and petrichor enveloping you.

He doesn’t look at you, talking across the table to Simon about some business thing. At least you think, you really hadn’t been listening. Maybe you should have.

“We should go check out that new place up the street.” Kyle announces, scrolling through his phone. “They’ve got great room for dancin’, apparently.”

“Is dancin’ the mood for the night?” Simon sighs, tilting his head forward. Even without the mask his expression remains placid. Difficult to read.

“Aye!” Johnny wraps an arm firmly around your shoulders. “We’ve got t’ take our little lass out on the town!”

You scoff, cheeks warming at the idea that you’re theirs. Their lass - their girl. Fuck that last drink really good to you, huh?

Johnny walks with an arm sling around Kyle’s waist ahead of you, John laughing and shaking his head at them. Simon hangs back a bit as you walk, taking small, slow steps to stay beside you with his hands in his pockets. The same as when he walks you home every night you close together. You silently revel in the safety of it - of having this massive man in your shadow to block out everything else. You risk glancing up at his face - so new to you despite knowing each other for weeks. His skin glows in the passing street lights.

So not fair that he’s been hiding lips that kissable.

That’s totally the drinks talking.

“Y’alright?” He murmurs, glancing down at you.

You jump a bit, not realizing you’d been staring, eyes wide and hazy. Since when we’re you such a lightweight? “Yeah.”

“Still bothered about that guy?”

You blink. In all honesty, you’d completely forgotten him. Too busy enjoying your time with your boys. Your boys. Your boys. Their girl. That feels really good.

“No.” You shake your head and grin. “Sorry for being weird about it.”

“Y’weren’t.” Simon shakes his head solemnly, lapsing into a comfortable silence as you walk. It’s made up for by Johnny’s forceful cover of Pink Pony Club.

The place is packed when you get there, Simon having to use his bulky form to push through and secure you all a standing table. Not that you really need it, it’s mostly so the four of you can do a few shots - as per Johnny and Kyle’s insistence. Yours too, but it’s more fun to use them as an excuse to down two green tea shots back to back. You’ve never been good at saying no anyway.

“C’mon, luv.” Kyle herds you toward the dance floor and you follow, not unaware of Johnny right at your back. Your head buzzes, the world feeling loose and slow and comfortable around you. That wall you might otherwise have up long gone as you’re safely pinned between two of your favorite boys.

Kyle’s hands trail down your sides to knead at your hips, guiding them to move in tandem with his. Johnny presses closer to your front, hooking your arms up around his neck. If you were any more sober, you might have thought twice about the way you grind back against Kyle and press your chest into Johnny - your coworkers - but as it stands you couldn’t care less. Your body buzzes with a comfortable warmth, the music seems to course through your veins. It’s so easy to let them guide you, to melt into them, to tilt your head back onto Kyle’s chest and grin up at Johnny’s big blue eyes.

It’s the loosest you’ve felt in a long, long time

Johnny says something you can’t hear, his head ducking and lips grazing the shell of your ear. A touch starved part of you wants to whine, to throw yourself into him and burrow into his chest. Bury yourself right between his ribs - surely it’s warm in there. The very sun itself housed where his heart should be.

Maybe you’re reaching the water-only time of the night.

You tilt your head, half-lidded eyes making contact with Simon’s. They’re boring into you, seemingly memorizing the way you three move against each other. Each step and sway stored away for future reference. Surely it’s in your imagination.

Eventually, you shuffle around - trading yourself for Kyle as John’s big hands come to rest respectfully on your waist. The music slows a bit, at least, making it easier to dance with your boss without feeling like you’re crossing a boundary. Not that you would mind crossing that boundary. You’d leap over it if you could - those pretty blue eyes smiling down at you in the multicolor bar light. Leather and petrichor fill your nose. There’s a spice to it that isn’t usually there. Your drunkenness sets your fingers alight as they trace up his strong arms to rest on his shoulders.

“Glad y’came tonight, dove.” John says, barely having to shout over the music. His voice just has that commanding timber to it that makes itself heard no matter the circumstance.

You give him a crooked grin. “Me too.”

John just hums, swaying you carefully. People don’t do this, a small part of you thinks. Don’t dance with their bosses. You look down to where you’re pressed together. It feels good, though. You wonder if you’re more to him than an employee - if he considers you a friend despite your inequalities of age and rank.

“Is it silly to say that I’m really happy?” You mutter, not expecting John to hear over the music.

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, dipping lower so you can hear him more clearly. “I’m very grateful that we get to have you.”

Somehow your face gets hotter and in an attempt to calm down you glance over his shoulder to where Simon still stands, leaned against the wall with a glass in hand. His eyes rake over the crowd, sometimes resting on Johnny and Kyle, sometimes you and John, sometimes they seem to just look off into the distance. A woman walks up to him. She’s pretty. Tall with dark hair. You can’t see her face - can’t tell what she says. A slimy, nosy little part of you doesn't like it, despite having no right to an opinion. Simon’s expression remains flat as he responds and she stomps away.

You turn back to John. “Does Simon not dance?”

John chuckles. “Rarely.”

You pout. “I hate that he’s all alone.”

“He’s fine, love. Promise.”

“I’m gonna ask him.”

“Good luck.” John laughs, letting you push your way out of the crowd as the current song comes to an end.

“Si!” You call loudly over the music, movements sloppy.

“Hm?” He cocks a brow.

You lock your hands around his wrist like a child trying to pull their parent toward some bright thing that caught their eye. He doesn’t pull away like a more sober you might expect. “Come dance with me!”

“I don’t dance.” He scoffs.

“Please?” You beg, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. Not nearly as effective as Johnny’s but they’ll have to do.

“No.” Even in your drunken state you notice the corner of his mouth quirk up before he forces it back down.

“You can’t stand over here all night!”

“Watch me.” Simon huffs.

You pout and let your fingers drift over his forearm, all muscle and so very vascular. His skin is warm under your hands, the ridges of scars dancing across the pads of your fingers - invisible to the eye under his tattoos.

“Well, then, I’ll just have to do what you like to do!” You say with a discerning nod, clambering up onto the stool at the table beside him.

He frowns. “Don’t let me take you away-“

“I don’t wanna leave you alone!” You continue to pout, the cotton in your head only making things fuzzier outside of your new single minded goal: Hang Out with Simon.

He looks you over for a moment, something passing through those dark eyes of his. They’re so mysterious - so deep. Like the Mariana Trench. That’s the really big one, right?

Simon sighs and downs the last of whatever golden drink was in his glass, setting it on the table beside you. “Fine. I’ll give you one song.”

You’re practically preening as you pull him into the crowd, hand firmly around his thick wrist. Part of you briefly acknowledges a few jabs from Johnny and Kyle as you pass them on their way toward the bar.

A squeak escapes you as Simon suddenly turns you around, pulling you close and leading you to the beat. He’s good. Weirdly good. You feel a bit like a floundering fish all of a sudden. It definitely doesn’t help that you’re a lot more drunk than you felt five minutes ago. He smells like spice, too.

“So much for can’t dance!” You laugh.

“I said I don’t dance, bird. Nothin’ about can’t.” An arm loops around your waist, suddenly twisting to dip you low - holding your weight so easily. You fall into a giggling fit, face hot as you playfully push at his chest.

As the night goes on, things get fuzzier. Blurred. There’s one last shot with Johnny and Kyle and all you know is an overwhelming sense of joy.

A/N: Don’t love love this part but it’s cute and this is supposed to be my easy to write fic so I’m not stressing about it. Suuuuper excited for the next couple parts tho🤭

[xoxoemynn]

Summary of Samba's S2 Tidbits

Sharing some highlights I found for those who don't have Twitter. Many thanks to those who shared!!

From this thread:

Buttons had a roped tied around him because he kept trying to run back to the sea.

A scene was cut about everyone at Jackie's discussing what they would have in their Dream Boat - Pete said Lucius, Wee John wants to be a room person, Oluwande wants to be with Jim, Roach wants a kitchen.

Izzy was hit with a dry bread sandwich filled with a pickle and dried jerky in S1 and Roach made the same sandwich for when they kicked Blackbeard off in S2. No one knew Taika was going to hit the sandwich to Rhys the three of them came up with it that's why Nathan was laughing.

Calypso's birthday was initially going to be Lucius and Pete's wedding.

Roach is a verified Ned Low Stan!

Improvised scenes: the thumb war (😭), Izzy saying "rude," Roach flipping off Izzy's headstone

A scene of Jim and Oluwande and Archie stepping out of their room in boxers was cut

And from this thread:

S2E6 was not originally going to be be Calypso's birthday, instead it was Black Pete & Lucius wedding. Wee John & Roach were trying to get Ed and Stede to hook up because there was too much sexual tension on the ship. They gave Stede a makeover, Wee John dressed him, Roach pierced his ear and gave him an earing. Then Stede & Ed actually danced! Samba likes what the episode changed to, and that they didn't force the Ed/Stede relationship earlier.

David Fane got bit by an eel on the toe while filming their spa scene. They had to get back into the water to finish filming the scene. You will see in the episode that they are really kicking their feet in the water to scare the eel off.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Congrats on 5k!!!

I love little off-duty tidbits about the 141. What they get up to when they’re not on a mission, what do they do for fun on base, what do they do in their private time etc.

—Count The Hours

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of what the One-Four-One do on their down-hours with their Lovers] ❞

John Price: Reading ➺

It was no secret that John liked to indulge in quiet time whenever he got the chance. Always surrounded by soldiers and hurling orders eventually got to even the most skilled Captain—he was no different even if he’d been at this for countless years. 

On the days when the silent sounds of the house were able to be appreciated for what they were: the running of the laundry, the small creak of the kitchen cabinet that needed to be oiled, and the sound of your soft humming, it was a sacred turn of events. Such mundane, and normally labeled nuisances, were an excellent backdrop for the words on the page of his book that flew from the paper. Scenes unfolded from times and places long past; everything was separate. A perfect way for the mind to unwind. 

You pass by silently as John reads, kissing his forehead when he grunts in pleasure. The man lets his fingers brush your thigh as you move off to do whatever you wish. He knew you’d join him eventually. 

Reading was good, but nothing quite beat the perfect distraction that was you. 

John flips a page and absentmindedly itches at his beard.

Simon Riley: People Watching ➺

“I bet she works in a cafe,” you mutter softly. “Look at her clothes—those are cafe clothes. Gorgeous.”

Brown eyes blink at the woman in a long skirt and a neat blouse, coffee cup in hand as she walks the ground before disappearing around a bend. 

“What are bloody ‘cafe clothes’?” Simon grunts, giving you a strange look from over his balaclava. The bench you two sit on is far removed into the trees of the park, and you smile as you lean into the man and intertwine your fingers with his, stealing his body heat. 

“I can’t explain it,” you wave your free hand as Simon chuckles lowly. “Your turn.”

“Pick one for me,” he grumbles. You point to a man dressed sharply from across the path, bending down and tying his shoe as a child plays with their mother near a picnic basket and blanket. Your lips twitch into a smile. 

“Accountant,” Simon says easily, squeezing your hand as he blinks slowly, casual with his guesses. “Child’s birthday—he’ll ‘ave to go in soon.”

“Really?” You chuff under your breath. Simon hums, vision sliding about as his thumb runs over your knuckles. “I guessed a hitman.” 

The man at your side looks down once more. “You what?”

Johnny MacTavish: Hiking ➺

The both of you are covered in dirt and sweat, lying on your backs with your packs about a foot or so away; lungs working inside of your chests as you smile like fools. 

“Remind me to let you carry me back,” you pant, chuckling as the form beside you rubs at his face—pushing back the grime. Nature is all around you two, the grass behind your bones and the open sky above your heads. Johnny and you rest for a short while on top of the hill, the wind picking up from the East but not so to an unmanageable degree. 

It had been on a whim to come out here on such short notice, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t enjoyable. 

Johnny always made hiking trips enjoyable. 

“Aye,” he laughs. “Don’t worry, Dearie, I’ll manage.” A moment of shared smiles passes between you two—you reach out and push at his cheek teasingly.

Johnny chuckles and grabs at your wrist, bringing it back and laying a firm kiss on the palm that leaves your already hot cheeks burning. 

“Ready to keep going?” You’re asked delicately, those cobalt eyes crinkled with love. 

“Oh, if I must,” you tease. 

The man kisses you once more before standing, offering you a hand without a second thought through a gentle smirk.

Kyle Garrick: Cooking/Baking ➺

Kyle’s rolled-up sleeves are pushed back even more as he hums under his breath, the gentle jazz filling the room to mix with the scent of fresh bread and stew. You rest your head on the island table of your shared flat, watching as the man glances back at you and your arm pillow.

He chuckles. 

“You don’t have to watch, Love.”

“Want to,” you mutter, eyes soft. The man’s smile turns sheepish as he glances away.

The man adds what he needs and says over his shoulder cheekily as you blink. “Well come on then, I’ll need you to taste test. Tell me what it needs.”

You chuckle and stand, walking over and sliding up beside him as Kyle takes a spoon and brings some of the broth to your lips. Your hand cups under the utensil, sipping it down. 

You hum under your breath, glancing at him. 

“It’s delicious, Kyle,” your fingers go to steal the spoon, but it’s moved away from you swiftly with a teasing tsk of his tongue. 

“Ah, ah—it’s not done,” the man beams, kissing your cheek and putting the spoon down. “Patience, Love.” 

“C’mon,” you lean into him, looking up into his face. 

Instead, a kiss is pressed to your lips, making you melt as a hand comes to circle your waist. 

Kyle leans back, smirking as he licks his lips.

“More salt,” he mutters, pulling back and disappearing into the pantry as you gape after his tall form.