request: Steve Rogers is out on a mission. And reader wants to surprise him with food for when he returns. Downfall: they can't cook anything let alone soup. So...chaos ensues and Steve returns to a load of takeaways and doesn't see the destruction in the kitchen until the next day? "Why's there a...What is that?" "...pasta" "that is not pasta I'll tell you that now"
pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader
word count: 510
warnings?: implied smut, pet name (honey), not proofread
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"Shoot," you muttered to yourself, looking at the destruction surrounding you.
Steve, your boyfriend, had been gone on a mission for the last couple weeks. In the year you'd been dating him, it's the first time he's been gone for so long. After the events of the Blip, Steve had taken more of an administrative role with the Avengers, only going out on missions where his skills and expertise were truly required. Those missions were few and far between, and they usually didn't require him to be gone longer than a couple of days.
He was supposed to come back tonight, and you had made plans for him to spend the night. To celebrate another successful mission, and his return home, you wanted to fix him a special dinner. Which was going well until, you know, you remembered you couldn't cook for shit.
Unfortunately, you hadn't made the realization until after all of the food you bought was splattered against the walls and you'd set off the smoke alarm no less than five times.
"Takeout it is," you said, grabbing your phone and dialing the number to the Chinese place you and Steve loved.
When Steve arrived, you had a ton of food waiting for him. "Awe, honey," he said, a smile stretching across his face. "You didn't have to do all this."
"I figured you'd be hungry after fighting your ass off," you said, wrapping your arms around his middle. You let your hands drift down, squeezing his ass gently. "Though, your cutie patootie still seems to be intact."
Steve chuckled, ducking his head down to kiss you. "Well, how about after we eat, I see if your ass is still just as cute as I remember it?"
"You got yourself a deal."
And, oh, how wonderful it was.
If only that wonderfulness had lasted. Because, when morning came, Steve woke before you, planning to go out for a run and then picking up breakfast on his way back. But as he went to grab some water before he left, he was confronted with the mess in the kitchen that you hadn't cleaned up yet.
"What the fuck," he breathed out, looking at what could only be described as the aftermath of a bomb detonating.
You had just started to come out of sleep, and, when you'd seen that Steve was gone, panic struck you. You'd forgotten about his morning runs. You jumped up, running to the kitchen, hoping that you might be in time to steer him away.
You weren't.
"I can explain!" you said.
Steve was still staring at the mess. "Why's there a...What is that?"
"...pasta."
"That is not pasta, I'll tell you that right now."
"It's what could have been pasta." You grabbed his arm, tugging him away from the kitchen. "I tried to fix you food. It didn't work out."
"Honestly, I'm kind of impressed you could make a mess that intense."
"Impressed enough to help me clean it up?"
"And impressed enough to sign us both up for cooking classes," Steve laughed.
