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Steve couldn't sigh hard enough to express his relief at standing outside his house. His mission was supposed to have ended two days ago, but nonetheless, he was home finally. After a long jet ride back to the compound, the debrief that felt like it took hours, and significantly more time than was necessary to convince Tony that he didn't want to have a sudden 4th of July/birthday celebration.
All he wanted was to come home and hold you, his spouse, his person, his love, his forever. His relief at being able to do so was palpable as he walked the half a mile across compound grounds to get to the home Tony had built for you two after you got married, where he stood currently, staring at the small, two-story cottage home you shared. Growing up, Steve had been accustomed to small living conditions and had wanted that "claustrophobic feeling" as Tony put it. The captain didn't feel claustrophobic though, he felt comforted, at peace, cozy, at home.
An alarm going off inside broke him from his gazing and had him rushing in through the front door. Ever the military man he still is at heart, he immediately takes in the situation around him. Your rustic-style interior seemed to all be intact and in order. All of your plush furnishings in the living room he'd just stepped into weren't out of place.
What was out of place was the thick smoke coming from your kitchen around the corner where a horrible burnt smell was easily traceable to. The fire alarms were all going off throughout the house and the faint sound of your sobs just beneath it. For a moment, Steve couldn't understand why this could've happened. You were an excellent cook, especially compared to him who couldn't do more than create raw or burnt food in the kitchen if he tried.
Unless...
Dropping his bag beside the door, Steve walked around the corner only to confirm what he had started to suspect. The door to the oven lay open with smoke escaping still from it, a muffin pan with black, circular somethings in them showing the culprit of this predicament. Flour, sugar, and who knew what else covered practically every kitchen surface along with bits of batter and some kind of globs that were pink, violet, and white. There, leaning against the counter full of milk, eggs, flour, sugar, and other ingredients was you with your face in your hands sobbing. Scanning over you quickly and not finding any injury from the doorway, Steve moved quickly, opening the windows in there and fanning the alarm to cut it off. With that task complete, he walked over to you and gently slid his hands under your arms so he could cup your cheeks.
Pulling your face until your eyes could meet his, his loving gaze met yours as he gently smiled and asked, "Hey Cupcake, what happened here?"
Steve's heart crumbled as your face did too. "I wanted to make you birthday cupcakes." Your words were garbled and broken through the sobs and wheezing you were doing as you spoke, but he still understood you perfectly. "Tony called and said you'd refused to do one of his celebrations so I tried to make you cupcakes for your birthday. I didn't want you to not be able to enjoy your birthday, especially since you had to work on it."
You had placed a very firm "I will not bake" rule and it had been for good reason. Despite your amazing, in Steve's opinion, culinary skills, the second you started to bake, everything would go wrong. Cakes collapsing, cookies that were both burnt on the outside and raw on the inside, breads that never edible, it just was not one of your strengths. Not that Steve minded, he didn't love you any less for your inability to bake. The fact that you had tried to just for him warmed his heart completely, even if the results hadn't been close to successful.
"Don't cry, my love," he soothed. "The fact that you tried means more to me than I can describe. Thank you, Cupcake. I love you so much, I don't deserve you. Do you want to share what you were trying to make?"
You got your sobs under control as you nodded. "I was..." you took a steadying breath before you started again. "I was trying to make you vanilla cupcakes with red, white, and blue vanilla frosting on them. I followed the recipe and even watched the YouTube video on how to make them, but the cupcakes are now burnt hockey discs and the frosting came out pink and violet instead of red and blue. They aren't even sweet!" You leaned around him to grab a package off of the small kitchen island you have. "I even got these cute star-spangled candles to put in them so you could blow them out."
You watched Steve's brows furrow for a moment before a wide smile broke out across his face. Taking the package from you, he stepped over to your junk drawer and pulled something out. The quick sound of the plastic being pulled from the cardboard was the only clue you had that Steve had opened them as he had his back to you.
Turning, he stepped back over so he was in front of you again and placed the candle he'd extracted from the packaging into your hand and wrapped your fingers around it before he pulled a match, stuck it against the box, and then lit the candle you held.
"I don't need you to bake me a dozen cupcakes with sweet frosting on them, my love. I have the best, most delicious, absolute sweetest Cupcake standing right in front of me." Your cheeks flushed as you beamed at the sweet words of your husband. That loving look in his eyes never wavered as he tilted his head down and blew out the candle. Before you could say anything, the boom outside was easily heard through the open windows. Turning, you both saw the fireworks display that it seemed Tony refused not to use. It was Independence Day after all. You both moved to the window to watch the show, Steve wrapping you up in his arms with his chest plastered to your back.
"Happy birthday, Steve."
"Thank you, Cupcake."