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!!!! CURRENTLY UNDERGOING AESTHETIC CHANGES AND CONTENT EDITS !!!! I'm trying to edit my previous chapters before writing more! These chapters are cringe because I wrote them s...
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Can't Change My Mind For @Steve_Rogers_
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"Chin up, buttercup," Clint scoffed as you walked into the kitchen, half dead. "It's only 5am." He winked sarcastically.
You ignored the archer's amused remarks and made your way to the refrigerator, shifting uncomfortably under your skin. Being forced into a frigid, dry environment before the ass crack of dawn was something you frowned unfavorably upon [understatement much?]. Needless to say, you weren't in the best mood.
Rubbing your eyes, you lazily yanked the large fridge door open and scanned it's contents with squinted eyes.
"Where's the milk?" You croaked.
"Finished iiiiiiiit!" Tony sang.
You leaned back to see past the fridge door and saw the empty milk carton fallen over in front of him.
You slammed the fridge door, throwing your hands in the air, now advancing towards the pantry cabinet. You yanked it open and once again scanned the shelves for your cereal.
"How am I supposed to eat my-" As you pulled the box of Apple Jacks off of the shelf, your voice faltered when the box seemed lighter than usual. You opened the tab to peek inside, and just about threw the box on the floor when you saw it was empty. "ALRIGHT WHO FINISHED MY APPLE JACKS I'M NOT PLAYING THESE GAMES."
The clatter of a spoon against glass startled you, and as you whirled around to locate the source of the noise, you caught sight of Steve. Steve with a mouthful of Apple Jacks, with some still in his bowl of milk.
"Donf hur me." Steve spoke with his mouth full, too scared to wait until he chewed and swallowed to defend himself.
You just stared at the man, alternating between his face and his bowl, not able to produce words. Just a stare.
"You can have my other toast." Bruce, who was sitting next to Steve spoke up. He picked up the piece of toast that had a bit of Nutella spread on it, but as he was doing so, he banged his elbow on the edge of the table, making the toast flop to the ground, Nutella side down.
"Shootshootshoot." Bruce muttered, holding his elbow in pain. "Sorry y/n." He looked over the top of his glasses at you, genuinely apologetic.
"That's okay." You sighed, plopping down across from the two men, leaning your head on you hand. "I'll probably just go to Panera or something."
"Panera doesn't open till another two hours." Clint reminded.
You let your head fall from your hand and hit the table loudly.
"Same." he laughed.
When you looked back up, you saw a small face peeking shyly from the entrance of the kitchen where you all had been sitting.
