Sabrina Carpenter Imagines

cutie random

You’re in the middle of a chaotic cooking experiment in the kitchen, trying to pull together dinner. Your attention is fully on the recipe you’re barely following, a few pots bubbling away, and ingredients sprawled everywhere. You’re getting a bit stressed when you hear the door open, and in walks Sabrina, humming some tune to herself.

She stops in her tracks when she sees the mess in the kitchen. “Whoa. Babe, are we under attack or…?”

You sigh, already feeling the stress building. “Sabrina, please, not now,” you mutter, trying to chop vegetables without accidentally cutting yourself.

Sabrina raises an eyebrow, looking like a mix of amused and genuinely shocked. “Okay, someone’s a little testy today,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender. But you’re too busy trying to save the half-burnt pasta to give her much attention.

She walks over to inspect what you’re doing. “I mean, I could help, you know,” she says, but it’s clear by her tone she’s more interested in teasing you than actually getting her hands dirty.

You finally snap, feeling the frustration bubble over. “Sabrina, either help or… just stay out of the way, okay?”

For a second, she just stares at you, totally taken aback. Her eyes go wide, and her mouth falls open a little, as if she’s processing that you actually told her to stay out of the way. “Ohhh,” she says, drawing it out dramatically. “Alright, I get it. I’m in the way. Fine. I’ll just… supervise from over here,” she says, stepping back with an exaggerated huff and crossing her arms, pretending to pout.

You take a deep breath, trying not to laugh, and get back to what you’re doing. But out of the corner of your eye, you see her watching you with an intense, almost comically offended expression. After a few moments of silence, she lets out a loud, overly dramatic sigh.

You glance over, raising an eyebrow. “Sabrina, what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she says, looking at the ceiling, now clearly going for an Oscar-worthy performance. “I’m just over here, staying out of the way.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile slips out despite your frustration. She catches it instantly.

“Aha! There it is! See, I knew you’d miss me eventually,” she teases, finally breaking character and grinning.

You can’t help it—you start laughing, shaking your head. Sabrina takes that as her cue to jump back in, and before you know it, she’s by your side, grabbing a spoon and pretending to stir a pot like she’s in some gourmet cooking show. “Alright, let me save this kitchen from disaster. Step aside, professional chef here,” she says, in a fake, over-the-top French accent.

“Sabrina,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I know what I’m doing,” she says, confidently. But the second she turns the heat up too high, a loud sizzle fills the room, and she jumps back with a yelp, waving her hand. “Okay, ow! Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing. But I can learn. Right?”

You shake your head, chuckling as you turn the heat back down. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mutter, nudging her aside to fix her mistake.

She smirks, leaning in a little closer. “Oh, I’m lucky? You’re the one getting dinner and a show,” she says with a wink.

After a few more rounds of playful bickering, you finally manage to get the food ready—though mostly because you took charge while Sabrina gave commentary. When you both sit down to eat, she sighs dramatically, leaning back with a grin. “You know, I think we make a pretty good team,” she says, looking way too pleased with herself.

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too. “Sure, as long as I do the cooking and you don’t set the place on fire.”

Sabrina laughs, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “Deal,” she says, giving you a look that’s both soft and mischievous. “I’ll just be here for moral support. And maybe to drive you a little bit crazy.