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"Scrambled Eggs" - MCU - Tony Stark -M


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But, like, it's so loosely connected to MCU it could almost be read as original fiction even.  Seriously.  In which Tony attempts to impress Natasha by cooking scrambled eggs and sneezy mishaps ensue.  But wait! Is there a twist in the epilogue? :omg:

This is either a oneshot or a prologue to a longer story.  I would love it to be a longer story but I don't seem to fare so well with those so...I dunno?  We'll see?

I ship Tony/Natasha-Ironwidow-Starktasha-whatever you want to call it, and I ain't even sorry! :laugh:


How do you like your eggs in the morning?

It was meant to be a cheeky way to gauge Natasha’s interest in spending the night with him - fun and funny, a line so cliche and outdated that it was impossible not to spot the inherent joke.  An irreverent throw away question, to be discarded and forgotten about once it served its purpose.  Yet somehow, somewhere along the line, she had decided that the offer must have been genuine.  And worse, she had decided that Tony actually making the eggs was implied in the wording.  He remained unconvinced on that particular part of it, though she had argued her point with much conviction.  And that was how he’d earlier found himself walking to the nearest store ridiculously early in the morning.  On the worst morning possible, no less.  Seriously, it was like the weather was this bad just to spite him.

Actually no, that didn’t entirely explain why he’d found himself walking to the nearest store this early on a lousy morning.  He wasn’t exactly easy to talk into doing things.  In fact, the more people tried to convince him to do something, the less likely he was to do it.  She just seemed to have a way of...convincing people.

Tony didn’t see what the big deal about cooking food even was.  What was the point?  It was just a time consuming chore that didn’t even need to be done, not when there were so many ways to easily obtain already cooked food.  They were in Manhattan, for crying out loud.   No matter what type of food anyone’s heart could possibly desire, there was a good chance someone somewhere would not only cook it, but deliver it right to the door.  And even if the odd place claimed they didn’t do deliveries all he had to do was ask them to make an exception and his requests were invariably met with a “For you, Mr. Stark?  Of course!”.  So yeah, doing one’s own cooking was an utterly pointless endeavour.

Nevertheless, he had accepted the challenge and here he was with everything he needed to make the perfect plate of scrambled eggs.  Not that he was overconfident, the recipe he found online promised exactly that: the perfect plate of scrambled eggs.  So how could he possibly expect anything less?   And there didn’t seem to be that many steps...thankfully.  It also happened to promise to be “so easy your little ones can join in the fun and help out!” Truth be told, he attempted cooking so infrequently it was one of the few areas he was, well, slightly less than overwhelmingly super-competent at.

Okay.  The first thing he needed was a frying pan, and the first item from his bag of shopping:  a can of some crap he was supposed to spray onto said frying pad to keep the eggs from sticking to it or whatever.  Which, quite frankly, sounded horrifying and disgusting.  His workshop was full of greases and lubricants he could spray onto things to keep them from sticking.  The idea of applying the same concept to food he planned to put in his very own mouth sounded vile.   But in this one instance and this one instance alone, he would accede to the superior knowledge of...of...huh.   Of “mommywithablog74“.

Okay then.

Well, he’d started so he was damn well going to finish.  He put newly grease-baptised frying pan over one of the burners on his oven and went back to perusing the recipe as he waited for it to heat up.   Okay..."about two eggs per person, but adjust according to personal preference?”  How in the hell was he supposed to know what his personal preference was?  His experience with scrambled eggs involved ordering them, and then eating whatever quantity he was presented with.  Okay, whatever, he’d start with two each and go from there.

Oh.  Oh crap.  It also said to put the eggs in before the pan became too hot.  And the way the pan lubricant or whatever the hell crap he sprayed in there was beginning to sizzle and boil, the ship had already started to sail on that one.  Crap.  Okay, he needed to break four eggs and add them to the pan, and quickly.

Just one problem.  There was no instruction on how to break the eggs.  Well that should be an easy enough problem to solve.  Eggs were pretty fragile, it was just a case of getting an opening in the shell, perhaps by tapping the small end against the counter hard enough to-

Oh, not like that!  Definitely not like that!  Far too big of a crack far too quickly, and thick runny egg goo spilled out instantly.  He held a hand under the egg to catch the blob of grossness before it had a chance to escape further and carrying the sorry mess over to the sink, wincing as it oozed between his fingers.  Damn it, and the frying pan was sizzling and spitting.   This was already going badly.  And this recipe claimed to be “easy”?  Yeah, swing and a miss, mommywithablog74.  He rolled his eyes and opened a new internet tab on his phone, quickly searching “how to crack an egg”.  Okay.  Okay, that was better.  That seemed do-able.

He tapped four eggs against the side of the pan in succession, watching as they immediately partially turned white on contact with the now extremly hot pan, jumping back as the pan spat at him in indignation.  Okay, next step, now he needed to...he checked the recipe quickly...he needed to scramble them with a fork or a wide wooden spoon.  Well those were two very different implements, weren’t they?  Presumably one of them was inherently better, since tools tended to be specialised to specific tasks, yet the recipe did not intend to tell him which one.  He was really beginning to doubt mommywithablog74‘s credentials here.  He sighed, shook his head, and grabbed a fork purely on the basis that it was closer.

Wait.  There were some little bits of eggshells in the pan, and he might not be an expert of mommywithablog74‘s calibre, but he was pretty sure that was not a good thing.  He quickly stuck his finger into the rapidly congealing egg mixture in the pan-

And immediately withdrew it, cursing in pain as he brought the injured digit up to his mouth to suck on it gingerly.  Okay, admittedly that had been a dumb move, and he should have been able to work that out on his own.  He shook his hand, trying to relieve the pain.  He hated cooking.  Cooking sucked and scrambled eggs sucked and Natasha had damn well better appreciate what he was putting himself through in order to fulfil her request.  Damn.  Ow.  Sonofabitch.  Ow, ow, ow!  He shook his hand once more before retrieving the fork and using it to fish the eggshells out.  This was really a lot more complicated than it needed to be.  He huffed his displeasure and moved on to the next step, scrambling the eggs with the fork.  Which he did, and then scowled at the results.  The resulting lumps were not the uniform gentle yellow he had always known scrambled eggs to be but rather masses of pure white and bright yellow that refused to mingle amongst each other, regardless of what attempts he made to force them together with the fork.  

Yeah.  Well.  Whatever.  Next step.

“Season with pepper to taste.”

Well what the actual goddamned hell was that supposed to mean?  That gave him exactly no information as to what sort of quantity he should be aiming for here.  To taste?  What the exact stupid hell was that even supposed to mean?  How was he going to have any goddamned clue what he was supposed to do next?  Weren't recipes supposed to be actual steps anyone could follow rather than a sequence of vague noncommittal excuses for instructions? With an audible growl he grabbed the brand new container of black pepper and tentatively shook some onto the...well, even calling them scrambled eggs would be a big generous.  Was that even enough?  There were four eggs in there...probably a bit more...and a bit more still.  Yeah.  And then stir the eggs so that everything was mixed evenly...okay, well now there was a whole new side of the eggs that hadn’t gotten any pepper at all.  He shook more of the fine black powder onto the eggs, making sure to coat them as much as possible.  That was probably right.  Or close enough.  There didn’t seem to be an inch of egg that hadn’t been generously covered with little black flecks.

Okay, great.  That should be done now.

Except that really didn’t look like enough eggs for two people.

Well he’d bought a whole tray of them so he might as well use plenty of them so they wouldn’t go to waste.   He grabbed another egg and cracked it into the pan, and then reached for another egg.

The cloud of steam rising from the pan hit him in the face, or rather not just steam- the clouds of vapour carrying large quantities of pepper and delivering it straight into his nasal passages.

The reaction was swift and brutal.  All at once the full force of the sheer quantity of black pepper he had dumped into the eggs hit him and his nose flared with a sudden and insistent burning.


He reached up and rubbed his nose before cracking the next egg into the pan.  But now he was blinking furiously, and scrunching his nose, trying to fight against the sensation the pepper had caused.   The tickle had quickly spread from the tip of his nostrils to his entire face and it grew into a throbbing burn before he had a chance to realise what was happening.

“HihhEHHHggghcchhh...damn it.”  He rubbed his nose vigorously with the back of his hand.  “hehhhh’dtttCHHHUUU!...crap...”

He quickly scanned the kitchen looking for anything he could use to quickly bring relief to his tormented nose.  Hand towel.  Yes.  Good.  He grabbed it and quickly rubbed it against his face, hoping the mildly abrasive terrycloth texture would help scrub the itch from his nose.

It did not.

“HehhhISSSSHchhhu!...damn it...hehh...hehhhISSHHHUUU!”

Damn it all, now his eyes were watering in addition to the whole burning thing his nose had going on.  He wiped his nose with the towel, sniffled, and wiped his nose with the towel again because...well “streaming” might be the only word that could be used to describe what was going on with it right now.  He decided just to hold it under his irritated nostrils until further notice and turned to grab some plates.

There she stood, right in his line of sight as he turned.  Tousled vibrant red hair framing her face, clad in one of his t-shirts - which hugged her tightly across her ample chest and hung loose over her feminine shoulders and toned waist, and she had apparently helped herself to a pair of his boxers to wear as shorts as well.   It suited her.   It was undeniably attractive and for a brief moment his brain flirted with the idea of abandoning the idea of scrambled eggs altogether in favour of trying to persuade her into a more enjoyable activity.   And as for Natasha, she was trying, and failing, to fight off a smirk as she stood leaning casually against the door frame,  watching him.

“Are you getting sick?” she asked.  “Because if you are coming down with something, you’re off the hook with the whole cooking thing.  I have absolutely no interest in catching your germs, thank you very much.”

Tony squinted and blinked and scrunched his nose, trying to fight the rapid hitching inhalations long enough to answer.  

“No I am not...sick...it’s...the..th-...pehhhhh...pehehhhhhh...hehhh’ihhdddTCHHHU!...pepper.  This...is..nearly...d-...hhhehhhh...done...hehhISSHHHU!...*sniff*...so you go sit and I’ll go bring it out to you.  Seriously go, because I’m about to blow my nose and I don’t want you to watch that.”

Natasha straightened up and gave him a little one shouldered shrug.  She knew how weird he could be about doing simple things like sneezing or blowing his nose in front of people and it was far better just to indulge his idiosyncrasies than try to fight them. “Okay, okay.  I’m going.  But if you need any help with anything just shout.  Okay?”

“HehhhISSHHHgghhh!...yeah, okay,” Tony mumbled, then as soon as she was out of sight, wrapped the towel around his nose and blew as hard as he could.  He could feel himself expel a not insignificant quantity of thin, watery mucus, but it didn’t seem to help one bit.  His nose was just as furiously agitated as before.  And now that towel was ruined forever.  Oh well, like he couldn't afford a new one.

“HehhISSHHHggggh!...hehhIHHHktchhuu!”   Yeah, that wasn’t going to stop any time soon, was it?


Tony coughed raising a loosely curled fist to his face while simultaneously reaching for a glass of water he’d kept to hand.  This afternoon seemed to call for frequent sips of cool water for reasons he couldn’t quite place.  Keeping his eyes trained on the digital blueprint he was drawing up, he coughed again, sniffled, and reached for his water and took another casual sip.

Worst scrambled eggs she’d ever had.  Yeah well, he’d show her.  He'd cook scrambled eggs every damn day until he got super amazing at it.  He'd get so good at cooking scrambled eggs it would blow her mind!  She'd call them the best scrambled eggs ever!

He coughed and raised the glass of water to his lips yet again, following that up with a quick knuckle rub to the underside of his nostrils.

Come to think of it, he’d been feeling not exactly a hundred percent all day, hadn’t he?


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Ohhhh, I loved this! I love the thought of poor Tony trying so hard to cook something so simple just to impress Nat but still failing in the end! xD I'll eagerly be following this in the event that you do continue it! :D 

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This was so well written and hilarious! I loved that he made an effort even though it turned out terrible. Poor Tony.


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OMG! This is hysterical! I love it!

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