11th Doctor/Reader REQUEST for Miss-mooh

The Doctor flipped the pancake in the pan, smiling when it looked perfect. He set the cooked pancake on the plate where five others laid and poured more batter into the pan. He let it sit for a minute before flipping it. After seeing that it was slightly undercooked, he planned to flip in again.
Surprisingly, the Doctor was being all domestic-y. As he stood in the TARDIS kitchen, wearing a blue apron that said ‘Kiss the cook’ he wondered what changed. If someone had asked him to make breakfast years ago, he would go get something from a 36th century bakery or something like that. Now, someone didn’t even ask him to cook, he was doing it on his own. The Doctor flipped the pancake again and let it cook. He was making breakfast for you, who was still fast asleep in his bed.
When the pancake was cooked, he set it on the large plate and made a few more. He was honestly surprised by how they were turning out. Usually, if he attempted to cook, he would end up burning them to crisps. He smiled, turning around to get the butter. As he looked up, he caught sight of you leaning against the doorframe with a grin on your face. You wore one of his shirts that he never wore.
“Morning, Doctor.”
He blushed, but covered it quickly, “Good morning, (y/n)! How’d you sleep?”
You made your way over to him slowly, still feeling the strings of sleep pull at you. “Good. What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast!”
“Ah,” you nodded, eyeing the two plates that held three very large pancakes. He held one out to you and you took in gratefully, thanking him after. The Doctor pulled a chair out for you to sit at the table that was already set, then went to his own when you sat. He looked at you lovingly as he poured syrup onto his plate, admiring your hair, face, expression, the way his shirt allowed the marks on your neck to be seen and—
“Doctor?” you asked, snapping him out of his reverie. He’d poured enough syrup to cover both of your pancakes and then some on his plate. Some had dripped off the sides and leaked onto the table. “You alright?” You asked.
“Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” He replied, recovering from the accident. He cleaned the sticky liquid from the table and poured the excess syrup onto your plate. The both of you continued eating quietly until you asked how he learned to cook like this. The pancakes were really good. He smiled and began recalling the story about when he traveled to the early 20th century to learn how to make pancakes. Of course, it involved a few aliens other than him. Then, he went off about when he accidentally invented bow tie pasta.
You didn’t think the Doctor would ever stop talking, yet you didn’t mind it at all, you could listen to him all day. It was about lunchtime when he stopped telling you about his adventures. You two had never left your seats. The Doctor picked your plate up and set it near the sink, promising to clean them later.
“What do you want to do now?” You asked. Knowing the Doctor, he’d mention some crazy idea like visiting the largest known amusement park in the galaxy or going to the best arcade he’s ever been to.
“Whatever you want to do,” said the Doctor, wrapping his arms around your waist. The corners of your lips curled upwards as the Doctor kissed your lips lightly. You yelped and gripped his shoulders as he picked you up and walked out of the kitchen and down one of the TARDIS halls.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m in the mood for Disney movies. What about you?”
“I’m always in a mood for Disney movies, Doctor.”