Michael: “Why are we doing this?” Michael huffed as he chopped a carrot. “When was the last time you ate a home-cooked meal?” you questioned back. “Probably last Christmas,” Michael admitted in defeat. “Exactly. How are the carrots coming?” you asked, peering over his shoulder. “It’s taking forever,” he answered with a groan. “Yeah, and you’re gonna cut a finger off if you do it like that,” you sighed, pushing him gently out of the way. “Hold it like this,” you instructed, as you displayed the proper way to cut vegetables. Michael stepped behind you, reaching his arms around you and covering your hands with his. “Like this?” he asked, moving the knife slowly. “Yeah, that’s better,” you complimented. You let him continue to chop with your hands under his. Soon enough Michael’s hand dropped the knife and wrapped around your middle instead. “I need a break,” he mumbled, kissing your shoulder gently. “This isn’t really hard labor or anything,” you giggled in return. “Well, I’m bored,” he explained, “Can’t we do something fun and come back to cooking in a bit?” Michael turned you around and his hands found your hips as his forehead rested against yours. “Alright,” you gave in easily, “But I don’t wanna hear about how hungry you are when dinner isn’t ready on time.” “I won’t complain at all,” Michael assured you, pulling you slowly back to the bedroom. “That’s such a lie,” you mumbled before kissing him.
Luke: “Hurry! She’s gonna be home soon!” Luke urged his band mates. He observed the disaster in the kitchen and sighed, knowing he would not be able to clean it all up before you returned. “How much longer on the main course?” he questioned. Calum’s eyes widened and he ran to the oven. “I should’ve taken it out ten minutes ago,” he shouted, pulling out the crisp remains of your favorite dish. “And the dessert?” Luke inquired, trying to ignore the smell of charred chicken. “The frosting isn’t looking too promising,” Michael admitted, watching in dismay as some type of purple liquid poured out of the frosting bag onto the cake. “What did you do?” Luke groaned. “I’ll go to the store and get some,” Michael offered before rushing out the door. “Okay,” Luke breathed, trying to calm down, “We still have the wine, right?” Ashton hurried in breathlessly, shattered glass in his hands. “I dropped the wine bottle in the living room,” he admitted anxiously. “Did it get on the carpet?” Luke inquired, wincing at the idea. Ashton nodded. “Y/n is gonna break up with me on our anniversary,” Luke groaned, his head in his hands. The sound of a door shutting brought everyone to a tense silence. “Luke?” you called out as you walked through the house. “I’m, uh, in the kitchen!” Luke called out, pushing Ashton and Calum out the back door as he spoke. He finished just in time to see you walk into the kitchen with a pizza box in your hands. “Happy anniversary,” you offered with a smirk. “I cooked for you,” Luke pointed out. “And how’d that go?” you questioned, smiling confidently. “We stained the carpet with red wine, burned the dinner and I think we also broke the mixer.” “We?” you repeated, pretending not to know the boys had been over. “I,” Luke corrected quickly. “Do the boys want to join us for pizza?” you invited knowingly. “I love you,” Luke sighed in relief. “So do I!” Calum shouted from the backyard.
Calum: “Ya know, dating a professional chef really has its perks,” Calum shared as he sat atop the counter, watching you with admiration. “Mhm,” you hummed, too focused on cooking to fully listen. “Taste,” you instructed, holding a forkful of your newest pasta up to his mouth. He opened obediently and chewed carefully, as if he really knew what he was doing. “I love it,” he finally complimented. “You say that about everything I make,” you whined, wishing he could give some real criticism. “Because I love everything you do!” Calum defended with a laugh. “My boss is letting me offer it as our special tomorrow, and if it sells well I think he could let me create loads of new recipes,” you explained before tasting the pasta yourself. “Are you sure it doesn’t need anything?” you questioned nervously. “I think it’s perfect,” Calum assured you, “And I’m starving, so can we eat it?” “Okay,” you gave in, moving to the cabinet to grab two bowls. Calum hopped off the counter and crept behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. With his lips connected to your neck he murmured, “You’re gonna do great tomorrow, and if you want I’ll come in and order fifty bowls of the special.” “I love you,” you sighed, turning around to connect your lips to his.
Ashton: “Hey, it’s Y/n, and today I am gonna be teaching you how to make the world’s best pancakes! You’ve all been requesting that I do a video with a certain someone, and I have heard you. For one night only, please welcome my boyfriend, Ashton!” You cheered and clapped as Ashton walked into the kitchen, waving at the camera you had set up. “Full disclosure, Ashton and I have never actually made pancakes,” you giggled, “but we’re pretty confident ours will soon be the world’s best.” “First, you take pancake mix,” Ashton instructed, holding up a box, “And then you just kinda follow the instructions on the box, right?” Ashton looked to you for assurance, and you looked down at the box. “I guess so,” you agreed with a shrug. “I’ll get the eggs!” Ashton offered, hurrying to the fridge. “Okay,” he muttered, holding the egg over the bowl. He hit it hard on the edge before carefully pouring the insides into the mix. “Impressive,” you complimented. “I can juggle them, too,” Ashton volunteered, pulling out three eggs and tossing them up. “Ash, no you can’t!” you laughed. “Maybe not,” he muttered as one egg hit the floor. He concentrated on the two left, but quickly lost control of one. You watched as it soared into the air, and you winced as it came down on your head. “Ashton!” you groaned, feeling the cold liquid of the cracked egg drip through your hair. “Sorry,” Ashton giggled. You took an egg from the carton, cracking it over Ashton’s head. He sighed in dismay, tipping his head so the yolk slid onto the floor. “This isn’t going so well,” you admitted to the camera. However, soon enough the two of you had finished the pancake batter. “Time to cook!” you announced, dancing around the kitchen in search of a pan. “I got this,” Ashton offered, “They don’t call me the ultimate pancake flipper for nothing, you know.” “No one has ever called you that,” you laughed, taking the pan away from your dangerously confident boyfriend. You flipped the pancake successfully, holding it up in triumph. “That went like two inches off the pan!” Ashton argued, “Let me try.” He took the pan, flipping his first pancake about a foot in the air. “Now watch this,” he instructed, sticking his tongue out throwing the pancake hard. You shrieked as the pancake flew, landing on your camera and knocking it over. “Oops,” Ashton giggled as you groaned.