#johny walker

This was your first holiday season to be spent in the Thunderbolts Tower. Some non-American team members didn’t even understand the concept of Thanksgiving, and some have just never had the circumstances to celebrate. When you heard that, you became determined to give everyone the Thanksgiving that the Avengers used to give you when you all lived together.

Bucky was more than happy to help, supporting you through anything, always. Bob, also in your corner, was just happy to be included. Yelena and Alexei were also recruited because of the hovering they were doing in the kitchen.

You and Bucky were dancing around one another in the kitchen as he basted the turkey and you mashed the potatoes, supervising his work. Bob sat at the kitchen counter shaping chocolate chip cookie dough into balls meticulously.

Ava and John were lazily draped on opposite sides of the couch watching the parade.

“I still don’t understand the parade balloon thing,” Ava shouted to you without turning away from the TV.

“It’s a tradition,” you shouted back simply, hoping that answer is enough for her.

“Started in 1927, I remember Steve and I went all the way into Manhattan to watch them go by, we could barely see them through the crowd,” Bucky added, his lips twitched up in a smile, but there was a sadness in his voice.

You stopped what you were doing and moved behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, leaning your head on his back, “sometimes I forget you’re so old,” you said trying to lighten his mood. He laughed at that, really laughed, like he wasn’t expecting the joke. “You’re going to pay for that,” he said, still laughing.

“Says the guy in a pink apron,” you said untangling your arms from around his waist and heading back to your bowl of potatoes. As you walked away, you felt Bucky’s cold metal hand slip around your wrist and spin you into his chest. You put your palms on him to brace yourself and smirked.

“You said I looked good in this apron,” he said quietly, so only you could hear, except probably Bob who wasn’t sitting that far.

“No, I said you would look good in only this apron,” you corrected him, mischief gleaming in your eyes.

He laughed again, and kissed your lips. You smiled up at him when he pulled away.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you too,” you said back, “now let me go you aren’t done basting.”

He loosened his grip and you went back to your potatoes, smiling at your successful attempt to cheer up your boyfriend.

The elevator doors slid open, interrupting you from your thoughts, and Alexei and Yelena ungracefully piled out.

“We walked seven blocks but we finally found a liquor store that was open,” Yelena said, placing her box of liquor bottles on the counter. Alexei places his next to hers. The clinging of bottles intrigued John and Ava, who both moved from their positions on the couch to come see what they got.

“I told you guys to pick up a few bottles of wine,” you said, glancing between the two of them and the cases of alcohol.

“Yes, but you said typically it’s a day to drink, and to drink is to get drunk, therefore we got some wine, but also vodka,” Alexei said simply.

Yelena reached into the box and unscrewed the first bottle.

“Yelena it’s only 10:30, the parade hasn’t even ended,” Bucky said, watching her take a sip and pass it to Ava.

‘Yes, but it is a holiday, no? No work.”

You were in awe of what was unfolding in front of you, Bucky shook his head. Yelena, John, Ava, and Alexei made their way to the couch with the bottle.

“Don’t worry, they’ll all be good, it’s an important day,” Bob said positively, responding to how your jaw clenched as they all went to drink vodka. Bucky slid the turkey back in the oven.

You softened as you looked at Bob who was covered in cookie dough, “thank you, Bob.”

He nodded happily at his success. Bucky came up behind you and placed his metal hand on your lower back, instantly grounding you with its cold touch. He kissed the side of your head, “I’ll go supervise, okay? You just keep cooking, and looking pretty,” he said before walking towards the couch.

You smiled as you watched him walk towards them.

“You guys are really cute,” Bob said, not looking up from his tray of cookies, “even when you're being gross, you’re still cute.”

You laughed, confirming that he overheard your apron conversation before, he laughed with you.

The rest of the morning went by smoothly, Bucky did his best to control the teams drinking, you finished cooking, Bob helped in any way he could, and you even had time to shower and get ready for dinner.

When you emerged the team's volume had increased, and music was playing in the background, which you would equate to their alcohol intake.

By the time the turkey was resting and the table was set, the Thunderbolts Tower felt… alive.

Music pulsed from the speakers with upbeat tunes you would imagine were Yelena’s choice, and the vague scent of cinnamon cookies and questionable vodka filled the air. You rounded the corner in your nicer outfit, smoothing your sweater as you stepped into the dining area.

“OH! LOOK AT HER!” Yelena shouted, way too loud for someone that size. “You dressed up for us! Like a little thanksgiving princess.”

“That’s not— that’s not a thing,” you corrected gently, laughing as Ava nodded, definitely drunk and agreeing with Yelena.

Bucky turned from where he was carving the turkey, his eyes dragging over you slowly, warmly. His lips curved up.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured, pride and affection melting into one look. “Dinner’s ready.”

“And so are we,” Bob added, cheeks already pink from whatever Alexei had poured him earlier.

Alexei slammed a hand on the table. “YES! FEAST TIME. LIKE IN ANCIENT DAYS.”

John muttered, “Dude, you were there in ancient days.”

Everyone laughed, even Alexei, who took that as a compliment.

Dinner kicked off with wine being poured generously, far too generously, into mismatched glasses. Yours had a chip in it. John’s was technically a vase. Nobody cared.

“To our first Thunderbolts Thanksgiving!” Bob raised his glass, sloshing half of it onto the tablecloth.

Everyone clinked anyway.

The food disappeared fast, your potatoes, Bucky’s turkey, the cookies Bob had formed like perfect little soldiers in tight formation. Yelena announced loudly that the mac and cheese “was better than America deserves,” which was probably the highest praise she had ever given anything ever.

Halfway through the meal, laughter overtook the room like it had been waiting years for a chance to exist this loudly again. And as much as everyone was drunk, very drunk, yourself included, you could tell they were having fun. Honest, carefree fun. The kind you used to have on nights like this. Your cheeks felt warm from all the wine and they were sore from smiling.

You hadn't realized how much you missed it until now.

At some point, Bucky leaned close to top off your wine, his shoulder brushing yours, the kind of casual contact you knew he only did when he was relaxed. Really relaxed.

“You remember the first time we tried to make a turkey?” you whispered to him as the others shouted over a debate about whether Die Hard was a Thanksgiving or a Christmas movie.

He froze for a second, and then when he realized, he laughed.

“Sam set the oven on fire,” he said.

You giggled into your glass. “Because he thought broiling was the same as roasting.”

“And then Clint—” Bucky added, shaking his head at the memory, laughing harder, “ he tried to put it out with a blanket.”

“And Nat took the turkey carcass out barehanded. Which made me scream.” You added, still laughing.

“And Steve scolded all of us like a disappointed dad.”

You both laughed, warm and teary-eyed, leaning together without even thinking about it. The noise of the room faded a little. Your shared memory wrapped around the two of you like a warm, soothing blanket.

“Kind of feels like them here tonight,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured. “It does.”

His hand found yours under the table, fingers intertwining, not sad, just… remembering.

And for the first time since leaving the Avengers behind, the memory didn’t hurt.

Ava hiccupped loudly, snapping the moment.

“OKAY,” she announced, standing on very unsteady legs. “New tradition. Every Thanksgiving. We all say what we are thankful for.”

“That’s already a tradition,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“No,” she insisted. “THIS is Thunderbolts version.”

Alexei stood too, knocking over his chair. “YES! WE SHOUT WHAT WE ARE THANKFUL FOR!”

“Oh god,” John muttered.

But it was too late.

One by one, the team yelled their thanks:

“FRIENDSHIP!” Bob shouted immediately.

“VODKA!” Yelena added.

“FAMILY!” Alexei bellowed, thumping his chest.

“Not being in a cell,” Ava said with a shrug.

John raised his glass. “Honestly? All of this. It’s weird… but it’s good weird.”

Then everyone looked at you.

You blinked, touched. “I’m thankful we’re all together.”

They all cheered (too loudly), and then, almost naturally, all eyes shifted to Bucky.

He looked at you, then at the team, “I’m thankful…” he started slowly, a blush rising on his cheeks, “that we’re making new memories,” then he turned his head to you, “and I’m most thankful for you.”

You smiled softly and blushed as everyone turned to look at you.

Yelena sniffled dramatically. “I am emotional.”

“We should do this every year,” Bob said cheerfully. “Thunderbolts Thanksgiving.”

Everyone agreed at once with uncoordinated nods and slurred affirmations.

And just like that, a new tradition was born.

When the dishes were abandoned and the team migrated to the couch in a giant, drunk pile, you found yourself leaning against Bucky’s chest. He wrapped both arms around you, cool metal and soft flannel, he rested his chin on your head.

“You did good today,” he murmured.

“You too. You kept them from setting anything on fire.”

He chuckled. “Barely.”

You tilted your head up. He kissed you gently, slowly, like the night had melted away every wall he normally kept up.

Outside, the city glowed. Inside, your new team snored or argued softly about which cookie was the best.

And for the first time in a long time…

…it really did feel like home.

You woke up with your face pressed against something warm, heavy, and unmistakably made of muscle.

A groan rumbled above your head.

Bucky.

You blinked, vision fuzzy, and immediately realized three things:

You were definitely not in your bed.

Your head was pounding in a rhythm that matched your heartbeat.

The Thunderbolts were everywhere.

The entire team was draped across the living room like a pile of mismatched laundry. Somebody had turned off the lights at some point, but the morning sun stabbed through the blinds with the subtlety of a knife.

Bucky shifted behind you on the giant sectional, his arm tightening around your waist.

“Doll,” he whispered, voice gravelly with exhaustion. “Why are we on the couch?”

“You dragged me here,” you whispered back.

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

Before he could argue, a loud thump sounded on the rug.

John Walker rolled off the couch mid-snore.

“Nooo…” he groaned from the floor, face-down.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing, your body shaking in Bucky’s arms.

A small gasp came from across the room.

“WHAT IS THIS?!” Yelena shouted in her thick accent.

You and Bucky whipped your heads in her direction just in time to see her sitting rigidly upright, Bob still attached to her like a koala. His face was smashed against her shoulder, one arm tightly looped around her waist.

“I— I don’t know how this happened,” Bob said, horrified, still not letting go.

Yelena tried to wiggle free. “Unhand me! I do not cuddle!”

“You were cold!” Bob protested. “You kept mumbling about it last night!”

She blinked. Then, defeated, she sunk back down into the cushions. “Fine. Five more minutes.”

Bob smiled proudly and snuggled deeper. Everyone stared.

“Don’t,” Yelena growled.

Nobody said a word.

Ava, curled upside down in an armchair, groaned like she was dying.

“Why does my jaw hurt?” she muttered.

“You tried to bite Alexei,” John answered from the floor without lifting his head.

“She DID,” Alexei said proudly from the recliner, where he was sitting like a corpse propped upright.

Ava groaned again.

You finally pulled yourself upright, rubbing your temples. The room was a disaster, empty glasses, cookie crumbs, someone’s sock on top of the TV.

You sighed under your breath.

Immediately, six sets of eyes darted toward you.

Bucky sat up behind you, pushing his hair back. “We’ll clean.”

John, still on the floor, raised a hand. “Yeah, we definitely owe you.”

Yelena pointed at the kitchen. “We shall wash every dish like little American house elves.”

“That’s… not the reference,” you tried.

Bob stood up too fast, wobbling. “You cooked everything. That was, like… a lot. So we got it. Sit back. Drink water. Or more wine. I don’t judge.”

Ava nodded solemnly. “Yes. You fed us. Now we labor for you.”

Alexei slapped his chest proudly. “I am strongest. I will conquer the pot with the burnt cheese stuck to it.”

“That was you,” John said.

“YES,” Alexei beamed. “AND I WILL FIX IT.”

You looked at Bucky, who just smirked at your disbelief.

“Told you they’d behave,” he whispered.

“They’re hungover,” you whispered back. “They’re not behaving, they’re dying.”

The next twenty minutes were… something.

John tried to load the dishwasher but got distracted arguing with it.

Ava dried dishes by phasing them through a towel.

Alexei chiseled old mac and cheese off a pot like it was a military operation.

Bob hummed as he wiped everything, even the things that didn’t need wiping.

Yelena held the trash bag like she was going into battle, judging every item before dropping it in.

Bucky leaned against the counter beside you, sipping coffee and watching the chaos unfold like it was a nature documentary.

“You should sit,” he murmured.

“You should help,” you shot back.

He shrugged. “They insisted. Something about ‘respecting your labor as chef.’”

“And you?”

He kissed your temple. “I’m supervising.”

You elbowed him gently but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face.

Because somehow… this was perfect.

Messy. Loud. Hungover. But perfect.

The Thunderbolts, your weird, dysfunctional, chaotic family, were all doing their very best to make your morning easier.

By noon, the kitchen was sparkling.

Not because they were good at cleaning, oh no, the opposite. It was spotless because if they didn’t do a good job, they’d have to redo it, and everyone (except Bob) looked one dish away from throwing up.

Yelena stood in the middle of the kitchen like a general surveying her troops.

“It is… acceptable,” she declared. “You have survived.”

Alexei pumped a proud fist in the air. “YES. Great job, team.”

Ava slumped onto a barstool. “Can we never drink again?”

“You say that every time we drink,” John said, sitting beside her with a bag of frozen peas on his forehead.

“I mean it this time.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Shut up.”

Bob happily placed a plate of leftover cookies in the center of the counter.

Eventually, the group dispersed into separate corners of the common floor. Ava and John half-watched a movie, Alexei dozed upright like a horse, and Bob and Yelena argued gently about whether raccoons could be trained.

Bucky nudged your hip with his knee. “Walk with me?”

You raised a brow. “Feeling sentimental?”

“No,” he said too quickly.

You smirked. “Sure.”

He took your hand as you walked down one of the quiet hallways, passing tall windows where afternoon light streamed in. The noise of the hungover Thunderbolts faded behind you.

When you reached the far window overlooking the city, Bucky stopped. The light caught the faint lines around his eyes, the ones you had noticed more in recent years.

“You did good yesterday,” he said quietly. “They all loved it.”

“You helped too.”

He shrugged. “Little bit. Mostly supervised.”

You laughed softly.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “I wasn’t sure this place would ever feel like… anything more than another assignment.”

Your chest tightened in that good, warm way.

“But this,” he nodded toward the distant sound of Yelena shouting about raccoons, “this feels a little like a home.”

You stepped closer, resting your forehead against his chest. “I’m glad.”

He kissed the top of your head, gentle and sure.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too.”

When you and Bucky returned, the team had gathered again. This time with bowls of leftover mashed potatoes and a deck of cards.

Bob waved you both over. “We’re starting another new tradition!”

“Oh no…” you whispered, bracing yourself.

Yelena stood on the coffee table like she was announcing a royal decree.

“Every year,” she began dramatically, “after Thanksgiving dinner, after drunken celebration, and after hangover misery… we play a game.”

“What game?” Bucky asked, suspicious.

John grinned. Too widely. “Truth or Dare: Thunderbolts Edition.”

“Oh absolutely not,” Bucky said immediately.

“Come on, grandpa,” Yelena taunted. “What are you afraid of? Truths? Or dares?”

Alexei slapped Bucky’s back. “Dares! He is scared of dares! I can smell it.”

“No one can smell fear,” Ava said.

“I CAN.”

You giggled as Bucky shot you a betrayed look. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” you admitted.

He sighed, defeated. “Fine. One round.”

The team erupted in cheers.

The first dare was for Ava, who had to let Bob braid her hair. She groaned, but didn’t fight.

When it was your turn, Yelena leaned forward with a feral grin.

“Truth,” she said. “Is Bucky good kisser?”

“YELENA,” Bucky snapped.

You blinked innocently. “Very.”

The room exploded in laughter as Bucky dragged a hand over his face.

Then came his turn.

Ava crossed her legs dramatically. “Bucky Barnes. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” he answered quickly.

“Coward,” Yelena hissed.

Ava smirked. “What’s the thing you’re most thankful for this year?”

He looked straight at you.

“I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, you,” he said simply, holding your gaze.

You felt it everywhere, your chest, your throat, all the way to your fingertips.

The team collectively “awww’d,” except Yelena, who gagged loudly before smiling.

Bob sniffled. “That was beautiful.”

Hours passed in comfort: laughter, banter, soft smiles. No drama. No missions. Just being together.

When the room finally quieted, everyone drifting off to their rooms or onto couches once again, Bucky tugged you toward him.

“You know,” he whispered, lips brushing your forehead, “I think I like this whole tradition thing.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “Let’s keep it.”

“Every year?”

“Every year,” he agreed. “Thunderbolts Thanksgiving.”

You curled into him on the couch, his arm sliding around your waist.

Outside, the city glowed.

Inside, your strange little team settled into content, hungover, silence.

“So since Thanksgiving was so good, what do we do for Christmas?" Yelena shouted from the other side of the couch.

You yawned, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” you said ominously, “It’s going to be hard to top yesterday though.”

She hummed in response, agreeing.

You smiled against Bucky’s chest feeling your eyes grow heavy, and you drifted off to sleep thinking about all the ways you could make Thunderbolts Christmas even better than Thunderbolts Thanksgiving.

Taglist: @agentorange9595