AAAA in love with your depictions of all the characters:3 could you write the thunderbolts* reacting to you calling them by their last name? tysm :3
Prompt: The Thunderbolts react to you calling them by their last name.
Warning: fluff, some angst, angry reader moments
Note: Threw in some Alexei just for good laughs. Hope you like it!
Thunderbolts Masterlist
Yelena: The two of you were circling each other during another sparring session. You duck under her arm mid-swing and land a clean hit to her side. You circled back into stance, muscles coiled and ready again.
The air between you crackled with challenge—and maybe something a little more personal beneath the friendly fight.
“Come on, Belova. You’re slow today.”
Instantly, Yelena stands up straight and her entire fight stance goes back to normal. Her hands fall back down at her sides, her shoulders drop like she's no longer in the mood.
She narrowed her eyes at you instantly. “No. Absolutely not.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Belova? You trying to sound like Valentina?” she teased, clearly disgusted. “That’s gross.”
You laughed. “I didn't think you'd hate it so much."
She rolled her eyes playfully. "It's not the name. It's the way you said it. Felt a little degrading."
You grinned. “Maybe that was the point.”
She rolled her shoulders, cracking a smirk. “Well, if you want to keep playing that game, you better be ready to lose.”
You laughed, stepping back into your stance. “Bring it on.”
Bucky: The mission had gone sideways, not catastrophically per se. It was messy, chaotic, and just sloppy work. During the height of it all, Bucky went off script which made you more mad than anything. You refused to speak to him on the way back to the safe house.
You stormed through the front door first, tossing your gear onto the couch with more force than necessary. He followed, though slower and more casual—like nothing had just happened.
“We made it out, didn’t we?” Bucky called out. He began peeling off his gear.
You didn’t turn around. “Barely.”
He sighed. “Oh, come on—”
"I'm not talking with you about this," you quickly cut him off, giving him a warning glare. You were still fuming and frustrated with him. And he knew it. "I'm going to go shower."
He says something under his breath. You stop walking. You turn back to face him ever so slowly.
"What was that?" You were seething now.
“What? Don’t give me that look—” Bucky shakes his head.
"Barnes."
He knew exactly what that meant.
The name cut through the air like a warning shot. He straightens immediately, swallowing thick and realizing the severity of your seriousness. You never use that name — not unless he’s in big trouble.
He watched you for a moment, jaw ticking like he was deciding whether or not to push his luck. Eventually, Bucky took some quiet calculated steps towards you. He watched you carefully, waiting for any more warning signs.
"Oh...I know that tone," Bucky said cautiously. He kept his movements limited, but still few closer to you. "You're mad at me."
You crossed your arms over your chest and spun around on the heels of your feet so that your back was facing him. You didn't even want to look at him right now, still beyond annoyed and frustrated by his reckless behavior.
“I hate it when you’re mad at me,” Bucky admitted softly as if trying to win you back. “Especially when you call me that. You say it like I’m someone you don’t even like.”
You threw a brief glance over your shoulder, still keeping composure. "Well, right now, I don't."
He cracked a small, sad smile. “Fair.”
Another beat passed. The tension had softened, but it was still there just coiled tight between frustration and care.
Bucky took a step closer. “Is there anything I can do to fix it?”
Finally, you willed yourself to turn around in order to face him head on. His breath caught in the back of his throat as he awaited your reaction. You looked at him, really looked, and let out a slow breath.
“Stop acting like you have to handle everything on your own.” Your voice still laced with venom.
“I’m trying,” Bucky nodded. “Old habits die hard.”
You scoffed, a sound almost playful. Your tight demeanor slowly melting away because he always seemed to know just the right thing to say.
"Will you forgive me?" Bucky wondered, catching your gaze and sounding hopeful.
Though you sported a soft smile on your lips, you still weren't willing to just cave into him like your normally did. He needed some punishment; otherwise, he'd never learn his lesson.
You strode towards the bathroom without saying another word, leaving him to watch your retreating figure. You didn't give him an answer, but he knew what this meant for him.
"I take it that means I'm sleeping on the couch tonight?" Bucky called after you.
"Damn right."
John: It was one of the many moments when John simply wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on his phone, scrolling endlessly through messages, articles, and whatever had his face on it.
You needed help carrying a heavy box into your room. Struggling near the doorway, you carefully set it down and looked over at him expectantly. You wiped the sweat from your brow.
“John,” you called, but he didn’t look up. You tried again, a little sharper this time. “John.”
Nothing again. You placed your hands on your hips, clearly annoyed that he wasn't listening to you at the moment. It was time to bring out the big guns.
"Walker!" That got his attention real fast.
He looked up, confused. He put his phone down. “Yeah?”
You didn’t say anything at first. Just watched him with your arms crossed over your chest.
"Wait. Did I do something?” John observed, seeing the obvious look of annoyance in your eyes.
“You weren't listening to me," you explained to him blankly.
“Okay…” He frowned. “But very rarely do you ever call me by my last name. It almost sounded like I was in trouble."
You blinked, raised a brow at him. “Do you want to be in trouble?”
He shrugged, sending you a slight smirk. “I mean… not unless it’s the fun kind?”
Your shoulders slumped. “Walker.”
He grinned nervously. “There it is again! Is this a dominance thing? A flirting thing? Am I—am I supposed to salute you right now?”
You leaned closer. “I could make you.”
Alexei: Getting ready for another mission, Alexei was already decked out in his gear, but there were very few times where he wasn't wearing the suit anyways. He quickly fitted his helmet securely on his head when he heard his name being called loudly down the hallway.
“Shostakov!"
"Uh oh.” He said to himself.
Hearing his name like that made his blood run cold and the color drain from his face. He cautiously made his way to the door and stepped into the hallway to find you standing there with your hands on your hips. Giving him that look.
“Shostakov?" Alexei repeated, clearly confused because you rarely said his last name like that. "What is this, prison? You trying to sound like KGB agent or angry ex-wife?”
You snorted. “You don’t like it?”
“I hate it,” Alexei made sure to enunciate. “Call me Alexei. Or Red Guardian if you are feeling romantic.”
You raised a brow. “Romantic?”
He winked. “Well, you calling me Shostakov—I assume you’re mad at me. I cannot allow this. Come here.” He held out his arms exaggeratedly.
You laughed, dodging around him, but he followed anyway.
“You wound me. You treat me like I'm some careless brute.” Alexei was always one for the dramatics. You threw a glance over your shoulder.
“You are a brute,” you explained to him. “Especially with that whole tall, loud, intimidating thing going on.”
His eyes gleamed instantly. He snapped his fingers like he'd just discovered something remarkable. “Ahhh. Now I see. You are flirting poorly, but enthusiastically. This I admire.”
You stopped in your steps, spinning around to face him. He held his hands up in surrender, almost afraid you'd hit him or something. “I am not flirting poorly.”
He took your hand, placed it over his chest. “Feel this? This is the heart of a man falling for you because you called him Shostakov with sass in your eyes and sin in your voice.”
You drew your hand away and grumbled under your breath. "At least I got your attention."
Ava: The whole team was gathered in the conference room for the updates, logistics, and information collected for an upcoming mission they were planning. The team sat in their designated seats, growing bored of listening to Valentina talk for hours on end.
By the end of the meeting, Valentina ordered you to hand out the files to each member. You dutifully passed them out in order.
You pass her a file without looking up.
“This one’s yours, Starr. Try not to phase through the intel this time.” You mentioned offhandedly.
Ava’s fingers froze on the pages. Her head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing. “You said that like I’m already guilty.”
You smile faintly. “You usually are.”
She cleared her throat, a little too loudly, and pushed to her feet. You both started toward the door, footsteps echoing softly in the empty hallway.
"You used my last name," Ava mentioned. Her eyes straight ahead so not to draw attention to them.
"Mhmm. Did I?" You teased.
"You usually only call me that when you’re annoyed.” Ava added. You were a few steps ahead, but she watched you from the corner of her eye.
You shrugged, not bothering to turn around. “Or when I want your attention.”
That stopped her—not physically, but you could feel the pause in her silence, the way the air shifted behind you. You didn’t look back.
But you didn’t need to.
She was already watching you. And you knew she'd follow.
Bob: You spot Bob fiddling with some tech gear in the corner of the room, completely focused. You walk up behind him, pretending to look serious. But really just doing it to mess with him.
"Be careful, Reynolds." You warned.
His head snapped up so fast you thought he’d given himself whiplash. He dropped the gear immediately like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to to.
"If I catch you breaking another one of my gadgets, you’re going to owe me more than just an apology.”
He breathed a nervous laugh once he realized you were just messing with him. He put some distance between him and the table in front of him. He looked nervous, avoiding eye contact with you.
You tilted your head, noticing his odd behavior. “What’s with the face?” You asked.
“Well, you never call me that unless something’s wrong.” Bob noticed, now messing with his sleeves.
“Maybe something is wrong.” You smiled, but he misinterpreted it.
He panicked instantly; his hands flying up in deference. “I knew it. You saw the footage. I—I didn’t mean to break your favorite mug. I—It just slipped out of my fingers—"
You stared at him, mouth agape. “You broke my favorite mug?”
This time, Bob really flinched.
"You—you didn't know." Bob realized slowly, like he was only now realizing the true depths of his betrayal.
“No, Reynolds. I didn’t know.” You crossed your arms and he hated the way you used his name with that tone. “But I do now.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, honestly!” he rushed out. “Let me buy you a new one. Or—or fifteen new ones. Whatever you like. It's on me. I’ll handcraft one. I’ll invent pottery. Just—please don’t hate me.”
Your originally upset expression started to ease away at his idea. Your mouth twitched. The part of you that wanted to be mad stood no chance against his pleading eyes.
“You’d really buy me fifteen mugs?” You batted your eyelashes at him and he only smiled back.
"Whatever it takes to make you happy," Bob confessed truthfully.
You bit your lip, trying hard not to laugh. Your arms slowly dropped from their crossed position.
"You're lucky I like you," you silently forgave him and he couldn't help the smile that grew on his face.
"I think I'm the lucky one."