A/N: The timeframe's a little warped; it takes place approximately immediately after they move into Avenger HQ at the end of 'Age of Ultron', but somehow Wanda's been around Steve and Nat long enough to consider them "mom" and "dad". Its fanfic, just go with it.
"ROMANOV!"
"Yes...?" came Nat's faux innocent voice a second later.
Steve turned around and saw Nat leaning in the doorway, looking ever so innocent and curious as to why he was yelling for her. Steve wasn't fooled.
"You can't store your guns in the cereal cabinet," he said sternly, pointing to where her Beretta was strapped to the inside of the cabinet door, and a Glock was strapped to the underside of the cabinet's middle shelf, both loaded and ready to fire. "We have kids here now."
"Kids who are seventeen, and once properly trained will be able to stop bullets with their powers," Nat replied dismissively with a wave of her hand, as she walked into the kitchen.
"I'm not a kid, you know," came a second female voice, immediately followed by the young girl the voice belonged to. "What is it you're talking about me?"
"They're emergencies, in case Tony decides to build another robot, and it attacks us while we're getting breakfast," continued Nat, ignoring the brunette.
"I don't have a problem with you having extra guns around, I just have a problem with them being in the cereal cabinet," replied Steve, returning Nat's peck on the lips as she grabbed a box of cereal from the offending cabinet.
"Where else am I going to put them?" said Nat. "Every possible hiding place around here has food of some kind in it — I mean, seriously, how much food does Tony think we eat? — I could stick them behind the butter in the fridge, but you'd still complain — Actually, don't look behind the butter; there definitely isn't a Desert Eagle there."
Steve narrowed his eyes at her, before opening the fridge door and looking behind the butter.
"Why do you even have an emergency 50 cal?" he asked, pulling out a bronze Desert Eagle .50AE. "I mean, it doesn't kick like a .500 magnum, but still…."
"It would have been useful against Ultron," countered Nat, as she poured a healthy dose (or unhealthy dose, depending on how you looked at it) of vodka into her milk and cereal. "The nine millimeters did nothing against Tony's robot army."
"Can I have some in mine as well?" asked Wanda, from where she sat at the bar with her own bowl of cereal, pointing at the vodka bottle Nat was holding. She hoped Steve was too occupied arguing with Natasha about her guns to notice what the younger girl was asking for; Nat would probably let her have some, as long as Steve didn't notice.
"Of course not!" exclaimed Steve, grabbing the bottle away from Nat, and storing it safely back in the cabinet — next to the cereal and guns.
"Why not?" grumbled Wanda into her cereal. "Mom gets to."
"You can't because its not healthy for you and you can get drunk. Nat can have it because I can't control what she does, and she can't get drunk," answered Steve.
He glared at Nat, who merely gave him a smirk. Steve rolled his eyes, replacing the Desert Eagle behind the butter and closing the fridge door; he thought it better not to check to see if there were extra magazines hidden behind the eggs. "Is there really nowhere better for you to store your guns than in the cereal cabinet and the fridge?"
"In case you've forgotten, I have a lot of them to store around the complex, in case all hell breaks loose, which it most frequently does. And I need them to be easily accessible, which limits the number of places I can store them. Anyway, we're all Avengers here, and the only person who doesn't have much gun experience yet is Wanda. And you know I'll be fixing that quickly."
"Fine," sighed Steve, closing the cereal cabinet door, and joining the other two at the bar with his own breakfast. "Just don't let anybody shoot anybody. We get enough injuries on the job as it is."