S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Michael Patrick Morgan

The brunette spins on her heel to face the offender. An index finger is pointed in their direction. “Do not touch me.”

"I wasn't gonna touch you. Last time I tried you punched me in the ribs."

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"—I don’t care. You don’t need to apologize for not having my back on the mission," Maiya snapped.

"Not having your back? I had your back the entire time! I'm just sorry things went south."

"One day your good metabolism’s going to give out, and then you’re gonna get fat.”

"I'll never get fat. I'm way to muscular and in shape for that."

"Look at how smart my fiance is. I think my fiance deserves a kiss."

"Mmm, but don't think your fiance isn't going to be eating the ones you don't want, plus i got myself some burgers."

"Please tell me you got me curly fries with that milkshake, and not regular fries."

"I got curly fries, regular fries, and even spicy fries, just incase you changed your crazy pregnant mind."

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He couldn’t help resorting to sarcasm to get his point across. It was in his DNA.

"Speaking of team, what team are you on?" Mike kicked the knife up into his hand, before sliding it into his boot.