C's corner: Apparently we're just building an entire extended universe of Thunderbolts being absolute disasters... and honestly? I couldn't be happier. 😂 This is another Thunderbolts Shenanigans request, I genuinely loooove writing these idiots. They're chaotic, dramatic, somehow incredibly competent on missions, and then immediately lose all sense the second they're back at the tower. It's one of my favorite little corners to write.
A huge thank you to my lovely anon for sending in this request! 🫶🏽 I had so much fun with it, and I really hope it lives up to your expectations. Thank you for trusting me with your ideas and for giving me another excuse to unleash complete Thunderbolts nonsense.
As always, thank you to everyone who's reading, liking, reblogging, commenting, and screaming alongside me. You all make writing these stories so much fun.
WARNINGS: Nothing but Thunderbolts chaos and absolutely no respect for normal team communication.
✍🏽 WC: 4.1K+
SUMMARY: When one ridiculous handshake turns into an entire secret language, you and John Walker accidentally create a communication system made of looks, noises, phrases, and pure nonsense. Naturally, the rest of the Thunderbolts refuse to be left out.
It starts because John Walker can't stop looking at you. Not in the normal way. Not in the romantic, soft-eyed, forehead-kiss way that usually makes your stomach do something embarrassing behind your ribs.
No. This is worse. This is tactical staring.
Across the training room, John lifts his chin exactly two centimeters.
You narrow your eyes.
He narrows his back.
You tilt your head toward the weapons rack.
He glances at it, glances at Bucky, then glances back at you.
You blink once.
John's mouth twitches.
Then, without saying a word, he steps behind Bucky, reaches around him, plucks the foam training knife off the rack, and tosses it underhand across the room.
You catch it without looking.
Bucky, who has been standing directly between you and John the entire time, goes still.
Slowly, he turns his head toward you. Then toward John. Then back toward you. "What was that?" he asks.
You look down at the foam knife in your hand. "What was what?"
"That."
John grabs his water bottle from the bench. "Knife transfer."
"With eye contact?"
"Situational awareness," you say.
Bucky's jaw tightens. "You two are getting worse."
"We're getting efficient," John says.
"We're developing as professionals," you add.
Bucky points between you. "You made eight facial expressions and committed theft."
"It wasn't theft," John says. "It was logistics."
Bucky stares at him.
John drinks his water.
You toss the foam knife back at Bucky. He catches it, annoyed that he catches it well, which somehow makes the entire thing better.
That should've been the end of it.
Unfortunately, you and John have never once let anything be the end of anything.
The handshakes were bad enough. Now, apparently, you and John have evolved.
You don't just have handshakes anymore.
You have looks. Sounds. Phrases. Small, stupid little bits of language that mean nothing to anyone else and everything to you.
It happens naturally.
A hum means come here.
A double click of the tongue means look left.
A sharp inhale through your teeth means absolutely not, Walker.
John's little "mm" means I'm listening, but I'm about to do something dumb.
Your "hm" means I know, and I'm deciding whether to stop you.
A slow blink means get me out of this conversation before Alexei explains his squat-based greeting again.
Two fingers tapped against your own wrist means food theft.
One eyebrow up means we're not telling them.
Both eyebrows up means we should absolutely tell them, but in the worst way possible.
And then there are the phrases.
"Ceiling weather" means the vibes are terrible.
"Blue fork" means someone's lying.
"Parking lot rules" means nobody panic, but definitely prepare to panic.
"Soup is armed" means you've both lost the plot and there's no returning from it.
You don't know how it started.
You're pretty sure John said it once during a mission when an informant served suspicious stew with a gun hidden under the table.
Now it means everything. It means danger. It means awkwardness.
It means Bucky looks like he's two seconds from throwing someone through drywall.
It means Valentina has entered the room wearing sunglasses indoors.
It means Alexei is about to say something that'll require a team apology.
It's a system. A perfect, terrible, deeply stupid system. And for three blissful weeks, nobody notices.
Then Bob ruins everything.
You're in the common room with John, Ava, Yelena, Bucky, and Bob. Alexei is somewhere upstairs, allegedly "resting," though the thuds in the ceiling suggest he's either exercising or fighting furniture.
Valentina stands by the windows, reviewing mission details from her tablet. "The target will likely attempt to escape through the east corridor."
John makes a small sound beside you. "Mm."
You don't look at him. You keep your eyes on Valentina. "Mm-hm," you answer softly.
John shifts his weight.
You tap two fingers against your thigh.
He clears his throat.
You hum once.
John nods.
Bucky's eyes move between you. Ava's tea pauses halfway to her mouth. Yelena stops eating chips.
Valentina doesn't notice, which is probably the only mercy left in the room.
Bob, sweet Bob, kind Bob, Bob with the survival instincts of a scented candle, raises his hand. "Sorry," he says. "Are they talking?"
Valentina looks up. "Who?"
Bob points at you and John.
The room goes silent.
You and John slowly turn toward Bob.
Bob's hand lowers. "Was I not supposed to say that?"
"No," you say.
"Definitely not," John adds.
Valentina removes her sunglasses.
Ava sets her tea down with the delicate precision of a woman preparing for war. "I knew it."
Yelena sits forward. "I knew there were noises."
"There aren't noises," you say.
John nods. "No noises."
"You literally just hummed at each other," Bucky says.
"That was breathing," John says.
"You said 'mm.'"
"That's a natural human sound."
"You answered it," Ava says to you.
"I'm also human."
Yelena points a chip at you. "Debatable."
Valentina closes her tablet. "Explain."
You smile politely. "No."
John smiles too. "Can't."
"Classified," you both say together.
Alexei bursts into the room at exactly the wrong moment wearing gym shorts, one sock, and the expression of a man who heard gossip through concrete. "Who has classified thing?"
Nobody answers.
His eyes widen. "It's handshakes again."
"It's not handshakes," Bucky says.
Alexei gasps. "Worse?"
Yelena nods gravely. "They've developed a sound language."
"It's not a sound language," you say.
John leans closer to you. "Ceiling weather."
You snort.
Every head turns.
Ava's eyes narrow. "What does ceiling weather mean?"
"Nothing," John says.
"It means something," Yelena says. "Write it down."
"There's nothing to write down." You insist.
Yelena grabs the whiteboard marker from the side table like she's been waiting for the universe to hand her purpose.
She writes:
WEIRD LANGUAGE
Under it, she adds:
Mm = suspicious
Ceiling weather = unknown
Knife transfer = crime
"That wasn't a crime," John says.
Bucky mutters, "It was close."
Valentina looks at the board, then at you. "How many of these are there?"
You and John look at each other. Terrible mistake.
Because John raises one eyebrow.
You raise both.
He presses his lips together.
You tilt your head.
He lets out the smallest laugh.
Yelena screams. Not loudly, just one sharp little "Ha!" of triumph. "You are doing it right now!"
"We're not," you say.
"You are!" Bob says, delighted. "That was a whole conversation."
"What did it mean?" Ava asks.
John folds his arms. "Wouldn't you like to know."
Bucky points at him. "That means it meant something."
Alexei looks betrayed all over again. "First, secret handshake. Now secret face?"
"It's not secret face," you say.
"It is face espionage."
John nods once. "That's actually pretty good."
"Don't encourage him."
Alexei marches to the whiteboard and writes FACE ESPIONAGE in massive letters.
Valentina pinches the bridge of her nose. "I'm not approving this."
"You don't approve team culture," Yelena says.
"I absolutely do when team culture becomes mouth Morse code."
John looks at you.
You look at John.
You both click your tongues once.
Valentina's head snaps up. "No."
"What?" you ask.
"No clicking."
John points at himself. "I didn't click."
"You clicked."
"I have teeth."
"That's not a defense."
Ava leans forward. "What does the click mean?"
"Nothing," you say.
"It means something," Bucky says.
"Why are you so invested?" John asks.
"Because I'm apparently surrounded by human walkie-talkies."
Bob raises his hand again. "Can I learn it?"
"No," everyone says.
Bob lowers his hand.
You immediately feel guilty.
John does too, because he's tragically soft under all that military-grade smugness. He sighs. "Okay. Bob can learn one."
You turn to him. "John."
"What?"
"We talked about this after the handshake incident."
Bob perks up. "You talked about me?"
"No," you say.
"Yes," John says at the same time.
Bob looks pleased anyway.
Yelena draws a new column.
AUTHORIZED STUDENTS
Bob: pending
Alexei: denied
Bucky: pretending not to care
Ava: already spying
"I am not spying," Ava says.
Yelena doesn't look at her. "You're memorizing blink patterns."
Ava takes a sip of tea. "That's not spying. That's threat assessment."
Bucky closes his book. "Fine. What's 'blue fork'?"
You freeze.
John freezes.
The room sharpens.
Bucky smiles very slowly. "Interesting."
Ava points. "That one's real."
"Everything's real," Yelena says, scribbling.
John looks at you.
You look back.
One blink.
A tiny hum.
Two fingers tap against the table.
John nods.
Bucky groans. "Stop doing that."
"We're not doing anything," you say.
"You just had a board meeting with your eyelashes."
Valentina looks deeply tired. "I need every phrase on that board by end of day."
You laugh.
She doesn't.
"You're serious?"
"Very."
John slips his hands into his pockets. "Can't. It's organic."
"It's nonsense."
"Organic nonsense."
Alexei slams a fist against his palm. "Then we make our own."
The room stills.
Ava says, "No."
Yelena says, "Yes."
Bucky says, "Absolutely not."
Bob says, "I'd like a phrase."
Valentina says, "Nobody is making a phrase."
Alexei lifts both arms. "Too late. Revolution has begun."
It does, in fact, begin.
By dinner, Yelena has invented a noise system consisting of three clicks, a hum, and one sharp whistle that makes Bucky flinch every time.
"What does that one mean?" Bob asks after she whistles at him across the kitchen.
"It means you are standing in front of the drawer I need."
Bob steps aside. "Oh. That's useful."
"It's also awful," Bucky says.
Yelena whistles again, this time at him.
He doesn't move.
She whistles louder.
He turns slowly. "Do it again and I'm eating your chips."
She gasps. "You wouldn't."
John leans toward you. "Blue fork."
You choke on your water.
Ava's head snaps up. "That means lie."
"No, it doesn't," John says.
"Yes, it does," Bucky says.
You look at him. "How would you know?"
"Because he said it when Yelena told Bob she didn't steal his pudding."
Yelena points at Bucky. "You have been collecting data too."
"I have eyes."
"And feelings," you add.
Bucky's stare goes flat.
John murmurs, "Ceiling weather."
You lose it.
Ava looks furious that she doesn't understand. "This is intolerable."
So Ava builds her own system.
It's not fun. It's not silly. It's terrifying.
One eyebrow shift means move.
Two blinks means duck.
A slow turn of her mug means shut up right now.
A gentle tap of her spoon against the table means if you don't stop talking, I'll phase my hand into your snack and ruin your day.
Nobody knows how they know this, they just do.
During breakfast the next morning, Alexei begins explaining the emotional symbolism of his proposed "solidarity grunt language." Ava taps her spoon once.
The entire table goes silent.
Alexei frowns. "Why did everyone stop?"
Bob whispers, "Spoon."
Alexei looks at Ava's spoon.
Ava smiles pleasantly.
Alexei sits down.
John leans toward you. "Parking lot rules."
You nod. "Soup is armed."
Bucky pushes his chair back. "Nope." He leaves.
Yelena writes:
SOUP IS ARMED = escalation
PARKING LOT RULES = possible disaster
SPOON = Ava has seized control
By the end of the day, Bob has invented his own form of communication.
It's mostly thumbs.
Thumbs up means good.
Two thumbs up means great.
One thumb sideways means confused but supportive.
Two thumbs sideways means confused and afraid.
No thumbs means he's gone nonverbal because the room got too weird.
It's surprisingly effective.
John respects it. You respect it. Ava respects it.
Yelena studies it like Bob has accidentally rediscovered an ancient language.
Alexei hates it because it doesn't involve enough yelling.
Bucky becomes fluent immediately. This annoys everyone.
"How do you understand him?" Yelena asks when Bucky passes Bob the salt after one sideways thumb and a small nose scrunch.
Bucky shrugs. "He's clear."
"I'm clear," Alexei says.
"No, you're loud."
"I'm loudly clear."
Ava taps her spoon.
Alexei sits down again.
Then Bucky, because he's the worst kind of hypocrite, develops his own system without admitting it.
It's grunts. Not random grunts. Specific grunts.
A low one means no.
A shorter one means absolutely not.
A sigh through the nose means I heard you, and I'm ignoring you.
A soft hum means maybe.
A barely audible "hm" means yes, but I'm annoyed about it.
John figures it out first.
You catch him standing beside the fridge, watching Bucky stare into it.
Bucky grunts.
John hands him the leftover pasta.
Bucky grunts again.
John gives him a fork.
Bucky hums.
John nods. "You're welcome."
You stare.
Bucky shuts the fridge.
You point between them. "Did you just speak Barnes?"
"No," John says.
Bucky says nothing.
"That was Barnes."
"It wasn't."
"He grunted and you provided pasta."
John shrugs. "Context clues."
Bucky walks away with the pasta.
You follow him with your eyes. "He said thank you."
John nods. "Yeah."
"He did not say thank you."
"He did."
"He hummed."
"That was thank you."
You stare at him.
John smiles. "You're jealous."
"I'm not jealous."
"You're jealous I speak Barnes."
"I speak Barnes."
From across the room, Bucky grunts.
You point at him. "See?"
John tilts his head. "That meant 'stop involving me.'"
Bucky grunts again.
John nods. "And that meant 'especially you.'"
Your mouth falls open.
Bucky leaves the room.
You turn slowly toward John. "How dare you."
He grins. "What? I'm multilingual."
You flick his shoulder.
He catches your hand automatically.
Palm.
Backhand.
Fist.
Roll.
Then you both pause. The whole team isn't there. It's just the two of you in the kitchen.
John's thumb brushes yours, the private little last step of the new handshake.
Your chest softens.
He smiles at you.
Then, from behind the pantry door, Alexei whispers, "I knew there was romantic thumb."
You scream. "Son of a...!"
John yanks the pantry door open.
Alexei is crouched inside with a bag of pretzels and the expression of a man who has witnessed history.
"Why are you in the pantry?" John demands.
"Research."
You press a hand over your heart. "You almost killed me."
Alexei points at your joined hands. "You have secret romance language too."
John looks down at your hands. You do too. Neither of you lets go.
Alexei's eyes get wetter. "Beautiful."
"No," John says. "Not beautiful. Illegal."
"You can't call emotional discovery illegal."
"I can, and I will."
Yelena appears behind Alexei. "Did he find something?"
You narrow your eyes. "Were you both in the pantry?"
Yelena holds up a finger. "Different reasons."
"That doesn't make it better."
She looks at your hands. Her face lights up. "Ah. Romantic thumb."
John points at her. "Don't name it."
"Already did."
By the next morning, romantic thumb is on the whiteboard.
John tries to erase it. Yelena slaps his hand away with the marker. "Documentation matters."
"Our privacy matters," John says.
"You lost privacy when you communicated soup danger in front of the group."
"That's not legally binding."
Ava walks by, glances at the board, and says, "Romantic thumb sounds like a medical condition."
Bob gives two thumbs sideways.
Bucky grunts.
John points at him. "Exactly."
You look at John. "What'd he say?"
"That he agrees."
Bucky grunts again.
John's mouth twitches. "Okay, fine. He said, 'Stop translating me.'"
"You're enjoying this too much," you tell him.
"I'm finally good at languages."
"You know English and Barnes."
"And you."
Your expression softens before you can stop it. John realizes what he said at the exact same time you do.
The kitchen goes very quiet.
From the table, Bob slowly gives two thumbs up.
Ava taps her spoon once, but gently this time.
Yelena whispers, "This is cinema."
Bucky sighs through his nose.
John clears his throat and looks down at the counter.
You nudge his boot with yours. He nudges back. A tiny thing. A private thing.
Naturally, everyone notices.
Alexei walks in carrying a bowl of cereal, sees the room, sees your feet, and gasps. "Foot language!"
"No," you and John say together.
"Too late," Yelena says, writing.
Things devolve from there. The team develops too many systems.
Yelena's whistle language becomes impossible because she keeps changing meanings based on "emotional texture."
Ava's spoon code spreads outside meals. She starts carrying one in her jacket pocket like a weaponized utensil.
Bob's thumb system becomes official enough that Valentina asks him for a mission status and he responds with one thumb up, one thumb sideways, and a nervous smile.
Bucky's grunts are translated by John against Bucky's will.
Alexei creates a full-body communication system that involves poses.
His "danger" pose looks like stretching.
His "snack shortage" pose looks like grief.
His "team unity" pose looks like he's about to throw a couch.
Nobody likes it, but everybody understands it. That's the problem.
During one mission briefing, Valentina pauses mid-sentence when she realizes nobody has spoken for almost four minutes.
Yelena whistles.
Ava taps her spoon.
Bob gives one thumb sideways.
Bucky grunts.
Alexei strikes a pose by the window.
John makes a small sound.
You murmur, "Ceiling weather."
The entire team shifts positions at once.
Valentina lowers her folder. "What just happened?"
"Nothing," John says.
"You all just had a staff meeting without words."
"That's efficient," you say.
"No. That's unsettling."
Alexei holds his pose. "It's unity."
"It's a communications hazard."
Bucky grunts.
John says, "He disagrees."
Bucky points at John without looking.
John says, "And he'd like me to stop."
Valentina stares. "You can understand him?"
"Unfortunately," Ava says, "yes."
Valentina looks at you next. "And what does ceiling weather mean?"
You shrug. "Depends."
"On what?"
"The ceiling."
She closes her eyes. "I hate this team."
Yelena whistles twice.
Bob gives two thumbs up.
Ava taps her spoon.
Alexei changes pose.
Bucky grunts.
John leans toward you. "Parking lot rules?"
You glance at Valentina's slowly tightening grip on her folder. "Parking lot rules."
Valentina points at the door. "Everyone out."
Nobody moves.
Ava taps her spoon once.
Everyone gets up.
Valentina looks horrified. "Did the spoon just outrank me?"
"Yes," Yelena says.
"Absolutely," you say.
John nods. "Clean chain of command."
Valentina throws the folder onto the table. "No more nonverbal communication during briefings."
Bucky grunts.
John opens his mouth.
Valentina points at him. "Translate that and I'll assign you to Wilson for a month."
John shuts his mouth.
You lean in and whisper, "Sam's squad."
John shudders. "Don't joke."
The ban lasts twenty-two minutes.
It breaks because Alexei tries to ask Bob to pass the potatoes at dinner without speaking, using only his "snack shortage" pose.
Bob misreads it as "emotional injury" and tries to hug him.
Ava taps her spoon.
Yelena whistles.
Bucky grunts.
John translates Bucky.
You say, "Soup is armed."
Valentina walks in, sees everyone frozen around a bowl of mashed potatoes, and walks right back out.
For a while, it's just funny. Stupid funny. Tower funny.
The kind of funny that sticks to the walls and makes the place feel less like a government-funded mistake and more like something almost warm.
Then one night, after a bad mission, it becomes something else.
Nobody talks much after you get back.
There's blood on John's sleeve that isn't his. Dirt on your cheek. A bruise blooming along Bob's jaw. Bucky's left hand keeps flexing like he's still waiting for a fight to come back.
The common room is quiet. Not peaceful, just tired.
Ava sits on the floor with her back against the couch. Yelena is beside her, knees pulled up, a bag of chips unopened in her lap. Alexei stands at the window, arms crossed. Bob is curled in the corner of the sofa, both thumbs tucked into his fists.
John stands near the kitchen.
You're by the table.
His eyes find yours across the room.
No smugness. No joke. No performance.
Just John.
He lifts his chin slightly.
You breathe in.
He taps two fingers once against his wrist.
Not food theft, not this time.
You know what he means.
You okay?
You give him one slow blink.
Not really.
His jaw tightens.
Bucky grunts softly from the couch.
Everyone looks at him.
Then tilts his head toward you.
John understands before anyone else does.
Go.
John crosses the room.
No one jokes. No one writes it down. No one whistles.
He reaches you and holds out his hand.
You take it.
Palm.
Knuckles.
Thumb.
He doesn't kiss you yet. He just holds your hand between both of his and rests his forehead against yours.
You close your eyes.
Behind you, Bob gives one small thumbs up.
Ava doesn't tap her spoon.
Yelena doesn't write anything down.
Alexei sniffles loudly and pretends he doesn't.
Bucky grunts one more time.
John exhales a soft laugh against your forehead. "He says we're annoying."
You laugh too, but it comes out shaky.
Bucky mutters, "That one was obvious."
The room loosens just a little.
Later, when everyone starts drifting away, you and John stay behind in the kitchen.
The city shines outside the windows, all glass and gold and late-night traffic.
John leans against the counter beside you. "You okay?" he asks.
You look at him. "You already asked."
His brows pull together. "No, I didn't."
You tap two fingers against your wrist.
His expression softens. "Oh."
You bump your shoulder against his. "I like that one."
He nods. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He looks down at your hands, then holds his out. "Think it needs an answer."
You slide your palm against his. "An answer?"
"For when you aren't okay."
Your fingers curl around his.
His thumb brushes your knuckles.
You think about jokes. About soup. About ceiling weather. About all the ridiculous, cobbled-together ways you've learned to find each other across rooms and chaos and bad days.
Then you press your thumb gently against the inside of his wrist.
Once.
His breath catches.
"There," you say quietly.
John looks at you like you've handed him something fragile and glowing. "That means stay?" he asks.
You nod. "It means stay."
His thumb settles over yours. "Okay," he says. "I can do that."
You smile. "You're good at that."
"I'm good at you."
Your heart does something ridiculous again.
From somewhere behind the couch, Alexei sobs, "Beautiful!"
John's head drops forward.
You close your eyes. "Why is he always hiding?"
Yelena pops up from behind the couch beside him. "He's not hiding. We're observing."
Ava appears from the hallway holding her spoon. "I told them this was weird."
Bob peeks over the back of the couch with both thumbs up.
Bucky stands in the doorway, arms crossed. "I was dragged into this."
"No, you weren't," Yelena says.
He grunts.
John points at him. "That means yes, he was."
Bucky glares.
Valentina's voice calls from down the hall. "I swear to God, if anyone has invented another language, I'm transferring all of you."
Alexei whispers, "Workers' rights language still pending."
Ava raises the spoon.
Everyone shuts up.
You look at John.
John looks at you.
One blink.
One hum.
A tiny smile.
He squeezes your hand.
You press your thumb to his wrist.
Stay.
He leans down and kisses you softly.
From the hallway, Valentina sighs. "I heard that."
John pulls back just enough to murmur against your mouth, "How do you hear a kiss?"
You grin. "Face espionage."
Yelena gasps. "She said it!"
Alexei cheers.
Bob gives two thumbs up.
Ava taps her spoon twice, which apparently means applause now.
Bucky grunts, which John wisely doesn't translate.
And because the room is already lost, because this team has never once known when to leave well enough alone, because John Walker is still unbearable and you're still no better, you point at him.
He points back.
Palm.
Knuckles.
Thumb.
Kiss.
Then you both turn toward the others and click your tongues once.
I just love when a duo of fictional characters has inside jokes, it makes everything more real and relatable, like, I can just get Spideypool and make it work;
Middle of a serious discussion between hero fellows, probably about some ending-world level threats, then Deadpool suddenly leans in, and whispers in Peter's ear something VERY specific that only them would understand, and having the MOST dead serious face. Peter bursts out. he's dying. Everyone around them just stares, they gave up on looking for context, they accepted the fact they're dealing with two idiots.
