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“Am I reading this right that it’s Thor’s turn to handle dinner?” Tony Stark leans in closer to the fridge in a dramatic maneuver full of antics as he lifts the whiteboard calendar full of chores.
Steve steps over, coffee mug in hand, while the other finds his hip, “It would appear so-.”
“And, WHO set that up?”
“Me?” Steve lifts an eyebrow.
“Of course you did. Did you just move in, Cap? Because if I recall correctly, the last time we had Thor even enter the kitchen, the counter was dented mid-hissy fit via Mjolnir?”
“I don’t remember that.”
“No, the guy can’t cook. His culinary knowledge doesn’t extend beyond the microwaved pop tart, and I will need something more substantial after my meetings,’ Tony steps away, ‘absolutely not. I’m buying burgers. You want a burger?”
“Tony, no. He wants to contribute; he was excited about this.”
“And I’m saving him the embarrassment. After Natasha’s attempts at murdering us last month, we can’t afford another fire in the kitchen.”
Steve clicks his eyes twice as if he could not take Tony seriously, “The only fires permissible around here are the ones in the lab?”
“-We ALL know she can’t cook.”
“No offense, but I’m sure you’re in a position to speak. Especially after your curry last night.”
“Not the point, Rogers. That was yesterday, and today is today. Hide the calendar- J.A.R.V.I.S?”
“Don’t,’ Steve warns, ‘Thor has the tangible one memorized.”
Tony grumbles and pokes at Steve’s chest, “When you all pass away tonight?! It’s on you.”
Rogers shakes his head.
“I’ll be full from lunch,’ Tony announces as he walks backward, ‘Happy will throw extra hamburgers in the fridge, and I’ll have him grab rabbit food for Banner when you’re to give up the niceties and prioritize your health.”
Steve rolls his eyes, “At least show up for the team and participate in the dinner conversation.”
“Who do you think I am? I wouldn’t miss that. They’re too entertaining.”
Thor boastful kicks down the doors to the expansive dining room with matching oven mitts and an apron;
“Behold!”
“No,” Clint’s face drops as a bowl is revealed and laid at the center of the dining room table with its well-lit candles.
Natasha elbows him with a glare.
“It smells like shit!” Clint whines with a loud whisper.
“Shh!” She snaps at him.
He leans to peer into the pot, “I’m not eating that.”
“Uh, Thor?” Bruce tugs at his shirt collar, neck muscles tightening as he timidly speaks up, “What is that? Is it still alive?”
“Absolutely not. I have chosen only Asgardian-rooted vegetables for this evening’s meal with your preference for dirt in mind. I am aware the slaughtering of an animal would not suit your dietary needs.”
“…thanks,” Bruce sits back with his chin low, eyes wide in horror.
“You’re welcome,” Thor smiles, pulling up a chair.
Tony snickers into his hand.
“We must enjoy the meal while it is warm,” Thor reaches, shoving his hands into the pot.
“Oh my god,” Clint gags, watching the demigod reveal his slop and lifts a spoon.
Natasha continues to glare at the archer and talks through her teeth, “Use your goddamn hands.”
“Mm!” He whines.
“Dig in, Tony,” Steve leans forward, slapping Stark’s back.
“Nope! You first, Cap,” Stark folds his hands and sits back to observe.
Bruce gags amid his attempt.
Thor’s expression falls.
“It looks great, thank you,” Banner nods with pale cheeks and a wheeze in his voice.
Natasha tilts her head and eyes the scientist from across the table, “Oh my, Dr. Banner. Was Ross spoiling you with pistachios and quinoa salad those 15 years on the run?”
He stammers under his breath as if it were some mantra, “I am grateful.”
Steve takes the first bite of brown slop from his fingertips, fist lifted over his mouth as he coughs.
Tony leans to his right side with a wide smirk, “What’s the matter, Cap?”
“Nothing,” he continues to choke.
“You seem to be struggling there,’ Tony reaches across his lap to flick a napkin open, ‘maybe you should spit it out.”
“No,” Steve coughs.
“No one will judge you. We’re all friends here.”
“Are we?! Thor’s tryna kill us,” Clint wrinkles his nose.
Steve reaches and takes Tony’s napkin from underneath the table.
“Atta boy. Get it all out,” Stark snaps his back as Steve wipes his mouth with a sigh.
“It’s not bad. It’s,’ the Captain coughs once more, ‘dry.”
“By Odin’s beard! How could I forget?!” Thor leaps from his chair, running into the kitchen with frantic urgency.
“He better be fetching the meat,” Clint grumbles.
Tony inhales, “Is anyone else getting a migraine from the smell?”
“Oh, you too?” Bruce checks in cautiously, crossing his arms.
Natasha reaches to rest an elbow on the table and subtly holds her head upright, “Alright, listen!”
The boys snap into obedient observation.
“We need to try it at least,’ Romanoff drops a fist into the table, ‘Thor made this for us. It’s the least we can do to show appreciation. We’re ALL going to try some! Clinton?”
“Tony first,” Barton shakes his head.
“Hell no!” Stark sits back, “I own this dining room. Move along!”
“Bruce?” Natasha pleads kindly as she continues down the line.
Banner shovels a forkful into his mouth before hiding the utensil, checking the door as if he expects Thor to return imminently.
“Clint?” Natasha moves on.
Barton pinches his nose, shaky hand lifting the handful of slop into his mouth.
“Swallow it,” she talks through her teeth.
Clint does so with eyes that look as though they’re ready to kill the woman beside him.
His expression drops as he holds his stomach;
“I’m gonna-.”
Natasha takes a handful and chokes it down, reaching for the water glass immediately after.
Steve lifts a shoulder, scanning the table, “You all know what I meant now, it’s dry.”
Romanoff closes her eyes with a defeated groan as her head falls.
“Nat?” Bruce checks in.
“I better NEVER,’ she coughs and lifts a finger, ‘hear you all complain about my cooking day again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Steve nods immediately.
“Aha!” Thor returns to the room with a lifted copper bottle, “This! Will enhance our meal to perfection!”
“What is that?” Tony questions in horror.
“If it’s not Asgard’s equivalent to blazing hellfire inferno hellfire sauce,’ Natasha shakes her head, ‘I don’t want it.”
“I know not a word you have just spoken,’ Thor sits slowly, ‘however, it is…hot. Hell may be the proper description.”
Natasha extends a hand and wiggles her fingers.
Thor reluctantly passes the item off as the men around the table lean in to observe Romanoff douse her plate full of the substance. She lifts a forkful to ask for and accept Thor’s blessing before the bite.
Her shoulders lift, head tilting from side to side as she chews.
“…Not bad. It’s not bad at all,” she abandons the fork and digs in with a more Asgardian proper finger grab full of hot sauce.
Steve reaches, dumping the substance on his dish.
Thor clenched a fist with a victorious smile as Tony scrambles to take it next. He shouts;
“Yes!”