tom holland/peter parker and steve rogers oneshots

thanksgiving- steve rogers (part 1)

"What time is it?" Tony shouted from the living room.

"LUNCHTIME!" Clint and Bucky chanted enthusiastically.

"No, stupids, it's breakfasttime. And Thanksgiving is in two days," he rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"A FREE FEAST THAT I DO NOT HAVE TO PAY ANYTHING FOR? THAT SOUNDS QUITE MARVELOUS!" Thor boomed, slamming his cup of morning coffee on the table.

Pietro came zooming in and did a front flip onto the couch, landing smoothly.

Unfortunately, the guys were not aware of the fact that you were still sleeping, so when you came stumbling into the kitchen, hair disheveled and unkempt and bags under your eyes, they looked surprised.

"Who dares...interrupt...my beauty sleep?" you hissed, running your fingers through your hair and shielding your eyes from the bright sunlight.

"Whoops," Tony shrugged innocently.

"Thanks to your loudass conversations, I was able to get...Two! Full! Hours! Of! Sleep!" You clapped your hands together with each word. "Now I can't get back to bed. So thank you for that."

"See, guys..." Bruce said in a quiet voice. "This is why you don't mess with Y/N."

"She's actually really scary..." Bucky whispered into Clint's ear.

"Last time I woke her up," Clint whispered back, "she reached into the drawer under the oven, got out the largest baking sheet there was, and whacked me in the side of my head with it six times. And then she replaced my toothpaste with mayo. Mayo!"

"Damn. And here I was thinking that her attacking me with sprays of cold water was bad." He shuddered.

"That's what you get for crashing cymbals in my face as a wake-up call," you fired back in response.

"Morning," you heard a deep, husky voice from behind you say. "Who was the person screeching at the top of his lungs about how croissants are the best breakfast bread?" You turned around to see Steve there, crossing his arms and looking just as annoyed as you were.

"That idiot was Bucky," you answered for him.

"What? In my defense, croissants are the best thing that's ever happened to me!" Bucky tried his best to look innocent.

"Okay, okay, will you guys shut up and stop bickering?" Tony interrupted. "We need to get to work."

"Work? Why?" Pietro exclaimed. "I don't get why we have to work at this early hour."

"Thanksgiving is in two days. We need to assign everyone to a task. But remind me never to put you and Bucky together on kitchen duty."

"Excuse me? My salad was great!" Pietro scoffed.

"It was burnt," you stated bitterly.

"But it tasted really good!"

"It was burnt," you and Steve said together at the same time.

"Well then," Tony rubbed his forehead, "Pep and Hill don't want to cook again, so we need to put two very talented cooks in charge..."

You raised your hand. "Can I give it a shot? I make a pretty mean roast turkey."

"Oh right. One of the decent cooks in this compound," Tony sighed in relief. "I am not eating a burnt Caesar's again this year. Anyone else? Hey, how about..." His eyes scanned the entire room, and suddenly, got a mischievous glint in them. "Steve? Last time I checked, you won the big Valentine's Day bake-off."

Everyone exchanged glances with one another, and Bucky raised his eyebrows up and down. They all were mega Y/N+Steve shippers, so for you two to be partnered up was like part of their dreams.

"Sure," Steve shrugged, oblivious. "Guess we got to get to work, Y/L/N."

"Alrighty then," you agreed, shaking his hand. Neither one of you let go for a moment, which made your heart flutter.

"AWWW THEY ARE HOLDING HANDS! HOW ROMANTIC!" Thor shouted.

You and Steve immediately let go of each other's hands, quickly pulling away.

"I've had enough of your guys' BS. Bucky, do that again and I'm taking all your croissants and you won't be getting any potatoes for the dinner," you threatened.

"No!" he gasped, clutching a hand to his chest. "Not my croissants! Not my precious potato babies!"

-----

The day quickly came and went before you knew it, and soon enough, it was time to get to work. "Wear this," you tossed Steve a chef's hat.

"Why?"

"So we can pretend that we're on a cooking show," you said as you put a hat on yourself.

"Alright then. How do I look?" He spun around, causing you to laugh.

"Pretty good," you chuckled."Okay, so you're on bread roll and potato duty, I'll handle the turkey, salad, and pie, and we can do the stuffing together. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he saluted you, stifling a laugh. "Bossiness looks good on you."

You took out all the bowls, measuring materials, and everything you would need, neatly lying them across the kitchen island. Taking the whisk, you furiously whipped up the batter for the pie, while Steve helped you by preinserting the crust in the pan.

"You're scary," he commented, leaning against the counter. "You act like you're on that show Tony watches all the time. Chopped."

"Get to work, Steve," you ordered. "Mash those potatoes right now."

"You sound like Gordon Ramsay."

"Shut up or you'll end up on my cutting board," you threatened as you began cutting up the ingredients for the salad.

"Ooooh, she's fierce," he whistled, smirking. You turned around and jokingly whacked him with your wooden spoon in response.

You had to admit, unfortunately, that it did look rather attractive on him when he was wearing a smirk, his piercing blue eyes sparkling with mischief. But you weren't going to let him know that, so you covered it up with sarcasm and sassiness. Which he, too, found extremely attractive about you.

"I DON'T GET NO SLEEP 'CAUSE OF Y'ALL!"

"YOU'RE NEVER GONNA SLEEP 'CAUSE OF ME!"

You heard the sound of a metallic clang and two loud, booming voices. Both you and Steve whirled around to see Bucky and Thor prancing around. Thor held the baking sheet (you don't know how the heck he'd successfully acquired it) while Bucky pounded on it with his metal arm.

"Really?" you groaned. "Put it back where you found it or I'll bash your heads in."

"Guys, what did I tell you? Don't mess with the master chef," Clint walked in, initially looking terrified at the sight of that glare on your face that seemed as if one look could kill the person you looked at.

"Thank you, Barton," you rolled your eyes, and went back to work.